


Flesh Calmly Going Cold

by Lauralot



Series: Daddy Issues [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Gore, Corpses, Crying, Dismemberment, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Gore, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mental Instability, Murder, Mutilation, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Self-Hatred, alexander pierce should have died slower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend is someone you'll do anything for.</p><p>If the friend is a handler, doubly so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the one year anniversary of the [Alexander Pierce should have died slower](http://archiveofourown.org/series/114886) series, here's an RP collaboration between ravenously and myself set within that universe. It's not a part of the series proper just because I felt it would be too evil even for that universe, but I hope it's a fitting anniversary gift!
> 
> Ravenously wrote Brock's perspective and I wrote Bucky's. We both wrote Steve, though ravenously wrote the majority of his point of view.

He's not being bad coming here, not really.

Daddy hadn't been happy the time Bucky was out all night and Daddy found him eating pancakes at the Commander's apartment. Bucky had thought Daddy was going to hit the Commander, and he'd felt like those pancakes were about to come back up all over his plate. But Daddy hadn't hit the Commander. Daddy had brought Bucky back to the tower and explained, very calmly, that Bucky wasn't in trouble and that Rumlow had done very bad things in the past, and Daddy didn't trust him not to do them again.

But he'd never actually said Bucky couldn't go back over there.

Anyway, Bucky Bear won't let anything bad happen. Bucky Bear's always keeping Bucky safe, and Bucky Bear likes the Commander. So things will be fine.

Except they don't look fine. The Commander's apartment door is open a little. It's hard to tell against the dark wood frame, but Bucky thinks there's something smeared there, something reddish. He feels like he might be sick again, pushing the door open all the way with his foot. Bucky Bear says to check the corners before he steps inside, so he does.

"Commander Rumlow?" 

\--

Brock isn't exactly surprised that this had happened. In fact, he's planning on just laying around on the couch for a few days, not moving, and accepting the fact that his life sucks, everything sucks, and he probably deserved getting the shit beat out of him. And it's probably worse than what he's feeling right now- he wasn't exactly feeling every neuron pop in his body before the men beat the fuck out of his body. He _does_ feel uncomfortably tight and can feel some of the deeper bruises and cuts getting to him, but. Whatever. 

At this point, he's used to feeling numb and removed once or twice from the world, as it should be. Hardly anything getting _to_ him, let alone pain and blood and a little bit of bruising. 

It feels good, in a way. To be able to groan and know that he deserves it, to feel his body work to put him back together, as though he _deserves_ for biology to stitch him up and keep him whole. He's almost enjoying the fact that he's a miserable, battered lump on the couch, when he hears the Soldier's fucking voice and-

Fuck. Fuck, of course he'd come now. Now of all fucking times. Absolutely fucking perfect, and though they've only met a couple times, and though Brock's mind isn't all there right now, he's at least seventy percent positive that this is the _kid_ that's knocking on his door. _Fuck._

\--

When Bucky was the asset, he saw a lot of people hurt. He helped hurt a bunch of them, ripping skin and pulling bones out of place as easily as the tissue paper tears in the tower's craft room. But those aren't the things his mind remembers when he sees the Commander hurt on the couch.

He thinks of a butcher's shop in Brooklyn, a long, long time ago. Of the nicest, softest cuts of meat hanging in a window. Something his family and Steve's could never afford. Red and limp and bloody. It used to make Bucky's mouth water.

His mouth isn't watering now.

"Commander?" His heart is going fast but his breathing is still steady. Bucky thinks that the bear is in charge of his lungs now. Bucky Bear says they need to look around and be sure the assailants are gone before proceeding, but Bucky can't take his eyes off of the Commander. "What happened?"

\--

This is clearly karma, and as much as Brock hates it, he can't say he doesn't deserve it. Fuck. He swivels his head, and it's a little uncoordinated but whatever. He's got no energy to pretend to be alright at the moment, whether or not he's facing down a murderous Soldier or an innocent child. "Nothin.' Go home." He says with as much force as he can muster. He can deal with himself on his own, and _fuck_ but Barnes needs to go back to the Tower. Even _if_ he doesn't traumatize Rogers' poor kid, Captain America is still gonna whoop his ass for letting Barnes see him like this. 

\--

"You're injured." Bucky's aware that his voice sounds...funny. Far away, like he's speaking through a tunnel or the cardboard tube from paper towels, but it's more than that. It sounds grown up. It sounds still. And he can't hear Bucky Bear's instructions any more, can't feel the bear tense and cautious in his hands.

He thinks maybe Bucky Bear is using Bucky's mouth. He isn't sure if he knew Bucky Bear could do that.

"What happened?"

\--

"Yeah, what tipped you off? The blood, the bruising or the fact that I can't stand? _Go home._ " The kid ain't talking like he normally does, or maybe he is. Brock _really_ isn't the best judge right now. He just wants to sit and maybe sleep for a little bit and wallow in the fact that _life sucks_. And he'd prefer to do that without Barnes' presence making the guilt that he hates spike up. 

\--

The Commander doesn't want him here. Bucky blinks, eyes hot. Maybe this is his fault. But Daddy wouldn't do this to teach the Commander a lesson, no matter how much he doesn't like him. Could Bucky have led someone here by accident before, somebody mad at the Commander? But Bucky Bear would have noticed. That's what Bucky Bear does, keeps them safe...

"What happened?" he asks, and his voice is his own again, but thicker. He can't cry here; the Commander's already got enough problems.

\--

Brock sighs. Maybe he'll leave if Brock gives him a _little_ more to work with. "Some piece of shit beat my ass. Brought his men here and everything. I'll be fine." And who cares if he's fine? Barnes should _love_ the fact that his old commander is laying on the couch with a 'woe is me' attitude. 

\--

"You--you're--" His mind feels like a pot boiling over. The Commander wants him to leave but the Commander's hurt and the Commander's already been so hurt in the past because Bucky didn't do his job and he can't leave him here now. But he looks really bad and Bucky doesn't know if there's a first aid kit. And what if the Commander's bleeding a lot deep inside where Bucky can't see? And what if the men who hurt him came back? What if--

He closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again, advancing toward the couch. The bear is still clenched tightly in his hands.

"You require medical attention."

\--

"...What? No. I'm fine. I told you I'm fine. Get outta here." Brock fidgets to sit up a little better and winces as it pulls on his body. And yeah, he should go to the doctor or something, he doesn't know, but he's not _going to_. Hell no. He distrusted hospitals even _before_ he became a known member of a terrorist organization. 

\--

"You require medical attention," he repeats. It isn't a suggestion. He stands over the Commander, considering the logistics of moving him. Ideally, he should stay as still as possible. The nature of his injuries suggested kicking and punching, and possibly strikes from blunt objects. Any of those methods can bruise a spinal cord. But there's no stretcher to transport the Commander. And whatever he does, he can't let go of Bucky Bear either. "Are you capable of standing?"

\--

"Fuck, can't you just go back to your daddy or something?" He _really_ would rather not deal with this. He’s already not sure he's cool with Barnes popping up in his apartment randomly as is, but he _really_ doesn't need to deal with the fucked up man taking him to a _hospital_. If the Soldier doesn't snap and kill him (which he is almost positive isn't a possibility anymore), then Rogers will, and that's a _huge_ possibility. "I'm not going anywhere."

\--

The Commander's health is paramount and must come before any tracking or retribution. He turns away from the couch, acting quickly so that the Commander will not think to begin evasive maneuvers. Zipping the jacket he uses to conceal his arm, he tucks the hem into the waistband of his jeans. Dropping Bucky Bear in the space between the jacket and his shirt keeps the stuffed animal secured.

Turning back to the couch, he grabs the Commander as gently as the circumstances allow, forcing him across his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He lets the Commander's legs dangle to his left side, where the ribs are metal and will be less affected by kicking.

\--

"Fuck-" Brock splutters and absolutely does kick and squirm to be let down. Even if he knows that the Soldier is infinitely stronger than him, he can't help but kick out pettily for a few moments, just out of sheer shock and anger and annoyance. "Let me down, Soldier!" Because this is _not_ the kid. Not at all. He knows that for a fucking _fact_. 

\--

"I will put you down once we reach a vehicle," the asset says, moving for the door. "The more you struggle, the more your heart rate will accelerate and the faster you will bleed." He shuts the door behind them as he steps into the hallway, but doesn't bother to lock it. There's nothing of value inside. Nothing that can't be replaced. "You have to remain conscious. I'm not supposed to drive without adult supervision."

\--

"You're not supposed to- I should fucking bleed out on your fucking shoulder, you dumbass. I'm _fine_. Okay? I'm fine. Put me _down._ " He is in no shape to struggle anymore, so he doesn't (he isn't actually a _complete_ idiot), but he doesn't mind verbally screaming at the Soldier. "Who's gonna pay for a visit to the hospital, huh? No one. Put me _down._ "

\--

"I will, silly," he says faintly, the s coming out as a _th_. The elevator is unsurprisingly out of order, so he kicks open the door to the stairs. How does the Commander manage the stairs every day when he often struggles walking over flat surfaces? "Do you have a vehicle or will I need to appropriate one?"

\--

So clearly, Barnes isn't putting him down. And is going to take him to the hospital and pay for the entire trip and- Brock groans and absently buries his face into the Asset's shoulder. Fuck. His. Life. He mumbles, "I don't gotta car. Don't need one, when I'm home all the time." 

\--

"We'll take a cab," the asset decides. He's capable of hotwiring a car, of course, but in the time it takes him to break in and start the vehicle, the Commander may try to slip away. The driver may not be happy about the blood, but the asset isn't lacking in money. Not since Tony Stark copyrighted Barnes's likeness.

Slipping outside, the Soldier tries to stand with the wind at the Commander's back, raising his hand to flag down a taxi.

\--

"I hate you." Brock mumbles. It isn't true, not in the slightest, but right now? Maybe a little. But he's safely along for the ride now, whatever the Asset wants to do with him. 

\--

His breathing doesn't hitch. His lip doesn't tremble. It doesn't. There is no noise within his throat, no whimper. The asset can't be weak that way. The Commander needs him.

Considering the sight of them, it takes a surprisingly short amount of time to hail a cab. The asset lays the Commander down across the backseat, making sure the doors are firmly locked before he takes his place on the front passenger side. His eyes are hot as the car speeds along. He'd promised extra payment for a fast ride.

\--

Brock isn't afraid of admitting that he's sulking in the back, as much as he can. His limbs are pulled in awkwardly at his sides, so he looks more like he's fighting off crying rather than yelling, but the look on his face is murderous and resigned as he petulantly glares at the back of the Soldier's head.

Whatever decided Brock Rumlow's divine savior would be the kid that he helped torture for years deserves a punch to the cock. He doesn't care that he's bleeding all over the backseat, just so long as Barnes knows his annoyance. 

\--

He's silent as the taxi speeds on. Asking too many questions of the Commander now may prompt their driver to contact the police. Besides, the Commander would likely be as uncooperative as he was at the apartment. The Commander can be very stubborn. Sometimes, that's to the benefit of his team. At other times, Agent Rollins would smack him and tell him to shut the hell up.

Agent Rollins is dead. The asset isn't sure if the same methods would work for him.

It isn't until the car stops before the ER that the Soldier speaks, turning to face the backseat. "Are you able and willing to walk, or will I need to carry you again?"

\--

"I'll fucking walk." Brock says. He has to preserve some semblance of dignity, after all. He groans as he sits up, and moves to open the door; it's harder than normal to get his stiff limbs to cooperate and hold his weight, and he leans heavily against the cab. Fuck everything. 

\--

The asset doubts the Commander's ability to remain upright and ambulatory for an extended period but says nothing. Once the fare is provided, he slips out of his own door, watching each second of the Commander's progress closely. He cannot allow the Commander to fall. There is an attendant watching from the doors. "This man has been beaten," the asset informs him.

\--

Brock isn't ashamed at this point to admit that he wants to lean heavily off the Asset. After all, it's the assets fucking fault he's vertical and walking. But he toughs it out because the pain of his limbs and abdomen are better than the humiliation of leaning against the fucked up man beside him. He chokes out a hacking cough and keeps behind him.

\--

There's a small crowd of people seated in chairs throughout the lobby, filling out paperwork, but Rumlow is taken back immediately. It makes sense; the hospital wouldn't want to deal with lawsuits if he quietly died of internal bleeding or brain damage in their waiting room. No one questions the asset as he follows after his Commander. Perhaps they assume the pair are related, or that they will need the asset to answer questions should they decide the Commander is concussed, incoherent, or uncooperative.

\--

Now that he's _here_ there's really no need to consistently curse the Asset out and continue to yell. Especially since doctors and nurses are now making him do stuff, and get settled for an examination of his injuries. He's not exactly the _best_ patient, considering he's borderline uncooperative in doing what they ask him (and if he _does_ do it, he grumbles and groans about it the whole time), but he's doing better than kicking the Asset's chest petulantly, like earlier. And- he knows, he really does know that he needs his injuries examined and taken care of. It doesn't exactly take a genius to know that whatever he's feeling now is gonna feel a whole lot worse once the injuries set in and once the pills he's popped today have worn off. 

When the doctor asks if he's on any medication, Brock says no. Which is gonna mean Questions about his blood later, but he doesn't even care. Now, since he's accepted the fact that he's in the hospital and likely _staying_ in the hospital, all he wants is to be hooked up to a machine that gives him a steady supply of pain killers and nutrients and that he can sleep and ignore the fucking Soldier looking at him with his weird ass fucking eyes. 

\--

The Commander is on medication. The asset knows this because the night that he slept at the Commander's apartment, he opened the medicine cabinet in search of toothpaste and found every row full of bottles of painkillers. The asset doesn't tell this to the medical staff; the Commander must have his reasons for concealing it. It's possible that the medication is stolen. That would also, potentially, explain the beating. The asset waits silently, taking up as little space as a man of his size possibly can, until a nurse is hooking the Commander up to a morphine drip.

The effects of morphine should make him more forthcoming with information. The asset sits down in a chair by the bedside, taking the bear from his jacket and holding on tight. "Do you feel better?" he asks as a child. His mindset is malleable, volatile, like walking on unsteady ground. His heart rate has remained accelerated throughout these events. 

\--

"Getting there." Brock says gruffly, and turns his head to stare at the Soldier. He's fucking creepy right now, that's what this is. He didn't have time to examine it before, but he keeps... Acting differently. And it's not like the 'normal' that Brock knows happens. He's positive he saw the Asset make an appearance, and as far as he's aware, that hasn't happened before. At least, Rogers hasn't said anything. Romanoff hasn't either. 

He breathes out a little, tries to focus on the morphine working through him. He _does_ feel marginally better, better than if he were to just sit on his couch and maybe down half a bottle of pills if he found the energy to get up. Brock's just not so sure he deserves it. That's all. And the fact that he was manhandled here makes it all the harder to _enjoy_ this. "You should go home. What time even is it?"

\--

"Too early for me to be in bed," Bucky says. His phone is in his pocket, but he can't take it out to check the exact time it is. The Commander might order him to hand it over and use it to call Bucky's daddy to come get him, and Bucky doesn't think he could say no to that. He can't go yet. He has to make sure the Commander is okay and he has to find out what happened and how to help. He already messed up once before and got the Commander really hurt and burned. He can't let it happen again.

"Do you wanna hold my bear?" he asks. The morphine probably hasn't been in the Commander long enough to make him answer a question like "Who did this?" or "What happened?"

\--

"What? Will it make you leave faster, if I do?" Brock asks, the edges of his words _just_ beginning to blur together slightly. Not noticeable unless someone knew his normal speech patterns. 

\--

"He'd make you feel better," Bucky says, playing with the bear's feet. "He's really brave and soft." The Commander's words sound a little funny, so Bucky casts his eyes down to the floor and sadly asks, "Why did people wanna hurt you? Are they mad about HYDRA?"

\--

Brock _could_ continue to say no, and continue to tell Barnes to go the fuck home, but. He guesses he owes the kid _some_ answer. Especially if he brought him here. He's really, really not sure why Barnes has any interest in him, why he would _care_ if Brock kicked the bucket because of a pill addiction on his couch, but clearly he does. And he wants to know _why_ but now isn't the time. He sighs, and casts a look around the drab, chemical-smelling room for a moment before saying, "Nah, Not HYDRA. Just some shitheads I forgot to pay. You don't have to worry about it. Better now."

\--

Of course Bucky has to worry about it. Nobody else worries about the Commander anymore. He frowns, still playing with Bucky Bear's feet. He can't ask too many questions about how to find the people who hurt the Commander, not yet. Then the Commander will realize what he's doing and maybe call the nurse to make Bucky leave. "But what if they come back?" he asks. "After you get home?"

\--

It hurts to shrug, but maybe it's some vindictive move on Brock's part, because he makes the fucking effort to do just that, and winces. "Then they come. I don't fucking care. You shouldn't either." 

\--

"But..." Bucky doesn't say he cares, even though he really does. The Commander didn't want Bucky around in the first place, and Bucky's annoying him right now. It's necessary, but knowing the Commander doesn't like him still stings. "Bucky Bear likes visiting you." He doesn't think Bucky Bear annoys the Commander. Even if the Commander hasn't tried to hold him.

\--

"The fact that your stuffed bear loves visiting me inspires so much confidence, Barnes." Brock mumbles, and sighs out, moving to look at him a little better. His movements are much more fluid now, less concrete as the drugs move through him. 

\--

That might be sarcasm. But the Commander might be too hurt or too drugged for sarcasm. Bucky can't be sure. "Do you want to hold him?" he asks, holding out the bear. Talking to his therapists is easier when Bucky Bear's around to hug onto. Maybe the Commander will want to talk to him more if he's holding the bear.

\--

"You really want me to hold your bear." He grumbles. "Fine. Fine, give me the bear." 

\--

Bucky stands up, carefully placing Bucky Bear on the Commander's lap. Bucky Bear looks happy to be held. He moves back to his chair, glancing toward the door. How long can he stay before the nurses come in and interrupt? "Do you want anything to drink? I think there's a vending machine..."

\--

Brock absently grabs the bear and moves it around a little, so it's sitting better on his lap. Like it'll do any-fucking-thing, but. It gives his hands something to do. "Yeah." He says, glancing at Barnes. Maybe he can find a fucking phone while he's out to get him carted the fuck home. "Get me something sugary. You too."

\--

Bucky hesitates as he gets up. The Commander might try to leave. He never let his injuries get in the way of a mission when they were in the field. But the morphine makes that unlikely, and Bucky Bear's standing guard. And maybe the morphine will be working even better when Bucky gets back. "Okay."

He moves down the hallway very quickly, getting a Mountain Dew for the Commander--the most sugary drink in the machine--and an apple juice for himself. He's not really thirsty and he doesn't drink that much after dinner hours, usually, but he thinks the Commander ordered him to get one. Besides, people are more open with information over meals, and having drinks together is almost a meal. As soon as he's retrieved both beverages, he heads back toward the hospital room. He keeps the Commander's drink in his left hand because that hand is colder.

\--

Brock had busied himself into looking for a cell phone- he knows his is at home, but he'd _hoped_ the kid would have left his lying around, but no dice. Half of him doesn't mind Barnes being here. It's almost... Nice, someone actually _maybe_ caring about him. Maybe possibly. Even if he knows that the only way Barnes would care about him is from some fucked up semblance of stockholm syndrome still latching onto his brain like an insidious beast. But it's still _care_ and it makes Brock feel... something. Who knows. He's not used to the feeling, especially since Rollins. And even that was different. 

But the other half knows he has to get the kid home. Brock knows that the Asset made an appearance, and the speech patterns... Something is _wrong_ and he's gotta get daddy to intervene and probably yell at Brock for fifty different reasons. But clearly the phone call isn't happening until Bucky either leaves himself, or he passes out and Brock can find his phone. 

\--

The Commander's sheets are a little bunched up when Bucky comes back, like maybe he's shifted around in the bed, but his IV is still in place and Bucky Bear's still on his lap, so it doesn't look like he's tried to sneak out the window or anything. "Is this okay?" he asks, holding out the Mountain Dew. "It was the sugariest thing." At least, he thinks it was. There was an energy drink too, but he isn't sure if those are loaded with caffeine or sugar. Or maybe both.

He takes the straw from his own juice box and pokes it through the foil at the top. "Bucky Bear doesn't get thirsty," he tells the Commander, in case the Commander was thinking of sharing his soda.

\--

"Well good, means we don't gotta get a drink for the bear, too." Brock says, and he even manages not to roll his eyes. He's usually at least a _little_ better at talking to this side of Bucky, but his patience has worn thin and his filter is almost slim to none, so it's getting rather hard to be _kind_. He takes hold of the Mountain Dew and tries not to wince at how fucking _sugary_ it is, but. He asked for it. Even if he literally fucking hates Mountain Dew- but the sugar content _is_ good if he's going to outpace Barnes in staying awake. Maybe. 

\--

Bucky frowns a little, though he hides it by ducking his head down and taking a drink. The Commander doesn't want him around. It's probably bad of him to stay. But he has to protect the Commander. Bucky Bear agrees, and Bucky Bear is never wrong. "The people that hurt you," he says. "Can you pay them back?" He doesn't think the Commander has a job.

\--

"Pro'lly. I dunno. Like I'm gonna fucking pay them back now." Fuck that. He never has money, and he's not paying some pieces of shit that decided to beat him up. 

\--

"Then won't they just beat you up again?" He could pay them off, but he knows the Commander won't allow that. He's too proud. And even if he had the money, he's too proud to give in now that they've hurt him. That's dangerous. When Bucky was learning to be an asset, he used to refuse to do things out of pride. Sometimes, his stubbornness damn near killed him. He can't let anyone kill the Commander.

\--

"Probably. It doesn't matter, Barnes." He doesn't _mean_ to be dismissive, but he honestly doesn't want to ramble on about how he got the snot beat out of him because of his pill addiction. Not only is he pretty certain Bucky won't understand, the small part that _might_ understand would be judgmental. Or at least, Brock is pretty sure. 

\--

"Was it about the pain medicine?" Bucky asks. There are other things the Commander must be lacking money for--rent springs to mind--but unless the Commander has taken up gambling without Bucky's knowledge, drug dealers beating him sounds more likely than a landlord doing the same. He wonders how many drug dealers there are in this city. He'll have to narrow it down.

\--

"The pain- Kid, you been sneaking around my apartment?" 

\--

"No!" He looks down again. It wasn't sneaking, not really. "I--last time I was there, I just--in the bathroom, I was looking for--I wasn't spying. And--and you need that stuff, right?" He moves like he needs it. Bucky isn't sure if the Commander uses it right, but he's not going to tell anyone about it. He doesn't want to get the Commander in trouble again.

\--

"Yeah, I need it. " Least the kid is gullible. Usually. "That's what medicine is for, right?"

\--

"I guess." Bucky's on so many medicines, it's hard to remember what all of them are for. A lot of times he doesn't feel like getting out of bed to go get them, but that would make everybody else worry, so he does. "But...they won't give them to you anymore if they're beating you up about it, will they?"

\--

"I can get then somewhere else." Or not at all, whatever. 

\--

Bucky doubts the Commander will be able to pay the other people either, but he doesn't say that out loud. He tries to stay focused on gathering intel. He knows it was drug dealers who did this, and the Commander doesn't have a car or walk very far without it hurting, so they must be nearby. He needs to narrow it down though. "There are other places close to you?"

\--

"What? Of course." Brock sighs and lets his head drop back to the pillow. This is getting tediously annoying and now he's got no idea what the kid is talking about. Maybe the morphine really _is_ getting to him. 

\--

It looks like the morphine is making him tired. Or maybe the talking is. Either way, Bucky's going to have to work faster to get the important information out of the Commander. "What do the people that hurt you look like?"

\--

"Assholes." Brock mutters and gives out a tired huff of laughter. "Fuck, what does it matter, Barnes? Just leave it be. It's not important. I musta deserved this."

\--

"You don't deserve it," Bucky says immediately, more forcefully than he'd intended. He sucks on the straw the apple juice again, shrinking back in his seat. "You're--you were a good handler, you--I just thought...if they saw me...if they saw my hand..,they'd leave you alone. Forever. But I don't know what they look like."

\--

"I-" A good handler. If that's all he'll be, is some left over stockholm syndrome, he wants Barnes to fucking leave him alone and be happy without his ugly mug getting in the way. This thought process is so enveloping that it takes a moment for him to latch onto what Barnes is _actually_ saying, and it makes him immediately say, "No. No. You are _not_ going after the fuckers who beat me in. Not a good idea. I'd be killed by Rogers. And you- You can't do that stuff anymore."

\--

"But I won't hurt them," Bucky protests. Probably. It wouldn't really be bad if he did; kids are allowed to hit people in self-defense, or if someone's trying to hurt their friends. But if he can intimidate them away, he won't even need to hurt them. And Bucky Bear has a lot of good ideas about intimidation. "I'll just scare them so they'll leave you alone."

\--

"Right. They'll try and hurt _you_ , Soldier. You shouldn't have to defend yourself from pricks like that." He rolls his eyes, sluggish. 

\--

"But they _can't_ hurt me." He feels something weird and almost unfamiliar in his stomach. It's not adrenaline; it's annoyance. Why won't the Commander let him help when it's obvious he can't handle the situation on his own? Why isn't the morphine making him more talkative? "You know they can't."

\--

"Alright, maybe. You're a fucking machine when it comes to fighting. Fine. But you'll still get in trouble, and so will I, and I _don't want you fighting for me_ anymore. You don't _have_ to." 

\--

"For fuck's sake, old man, you think I'm too stupid to cover my tracks? You think this would be the first thing I've kept from Steve? I _want_ to fight for you. Maybe you like lying around feeling sorry for yourself, but I happen to like doing something about people hurting my fucking friends. Just tell me before I decide you're a lost cause, for God's sake."

\--

Brock blinks and sits up as much as he can, looking over at Bucky blearily. It's hard to concentrate fully on him right now, but he tries anyways, peers at him between squinted eyes. Friend, he called him a fucking _friend_ , and that's not even mentioning that he's clearly talking in the most stable personality that he owns. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, too shocked at his word choice to do anything but stare, but he eventually mumbles out, "Jus' don' know what you think you'll do, runnin' into them, 'cept piss 'em off."

\--

"I call it putting the fear of God in 'em." Bucky shakes his head, setting the juice box on the arm of the chair. "I used to do it all the time, saving Steve's scrawny ass. Look, you're the one who said this was all my fault. Maybe I just wanna fix somethin', all right? You're one of the last people in this world who looks at me as anything other than some broken little kid, and I don't wanna lose that over your fucking drug problem." He settles back, letting his gaze drop to the floor again. "Please, Commander?"

\--

Brock watches him as steadily as he can, which isn't very, and eventually just. Shrugs. Maybe he'd be a little less 'whatever' about the whole ordeal if he wasn't hopped up on hospital grade drugs, but as it is... Barnes is saying he _likes_ Brock. Not because he needs something, or wants something, or because Brock is a means to an end, but because he _cares_ about Brock somehow and. He can't fucking say no to him right now. Brock owes him so much, and this just makes him owe him more. "Fix away. I trust you." And he does, mostly, even if he shouldn't.

\--

"How will I know if I've got the right people?" Bucky asks softly. He's not really sure what voice comes out. He's drifting, on the seas without an anchor. He stares at the bear in Rumlow's lap, What he'd give to be there, inanimate, away from all the pressures and judgment of _being_. But he has a mission now, for the first time in what seems like a lifetime. He needs to fulfill it. He has to.

\--

Brock squints a little for a second and then starts describing the men who came to his apartment. All of them even more scuzzy looking than him, all them looking as though they were tweaking on more than just mild _pills_. It's embarrassing to have to leave retribution to a man who doesn't know who he is, and a year ago, Brock could have taken care of himself. Hell, he wouldn't have to, because he wouldn't have had a fucking pill problem. It's only because his lips are loose and fluid from the drugs that he's able to describe them without wanting or having to stop from shame. 

\--

He listens in silence at the Commander speaks, soaking in every detail. He was programmed to retain information well enough that, by the time the Commander finishes, he could recite it back word for word if asked. But he doesn't. He's thinking, a strategy already forming in his mind. Once the Commander falls silent, he nods, standing. "Thank you." Stepping toward the bed, he picks up Bucky Bear from the Commander's lap. He should be able to perform without it, but that's not a risk he cares to take. "They will not trouble you again." 

\--

"You're going _now_? Fuck, Barnes." Brock fidgets back so he's laying his head on the center of the pillow, looking over at him with as wide as eyes as he can. He probably looks high as a goddamn kite. 

\--

He doesn't say that he already snuck out to see the Commander, and if he returns home he may not be left unsupervised for some time. What he says is, "There's no reason not to proceed," as he turns toward the door. Over his shoulder, he adds, "You should rest. I won't take long."

\--

"Fuck, right. Alright then. Have fun, or whatever it is you feel when you do this shit." Brock mutters as he leaves. He _should_ sleep. He should also find a phone. It's not like he actually has Rogers' phone number memorized, though. So there's really, honestly no use in even trying, except to just wait for Barnes to get back. 

\--

It isn't fun.

A drizzle of rain started up while he was inside the hospital, falling cold on his head and shoulders as he walks. He could hail another taxi, but the weather won’t harm him. And the walking gives him time to settle his thoughts. He cannot freeze up during the confrontation the way he froze when he saw the knife in his nightstand, back in October. It will not only leave him vulnerable to attack, but it will disgrace the Commander and possibly make them target him again out of spite.

It does not take long to locate a dealer resembling the Commander's description when he returns to the neighborhood. The man is near a corner Rumlow said they frequent, disheveled and twitching. Rumlow had mentioned a suspicion that these men were sampling their own stronger wares, and this one certainly acts the part.

"Did you assault Brock Rumlow?" he asks.

The man sneers in his face. His lack of confusion confirms that he is one of the guilty parties. "What's it to you?" His eyes find the teddy bear in Bucky's hands. "You some kinda retard or something?"

He removes his right hand from the bear, pushing up the cuff of his jacket on the left so that the metal is visible between the glove and the sleeve.

The man looks as though he might faint. Bucky doesn't give him the opportunity.

"Listen, jackass. You wanna get out of this with all your bones intact? Then do exactly what I say. You're gonna take me to your boss. On the way, you're gonna call the others who attacked Rumlow, tell 'em there's an emergency meeting. If you don't have their numbers, call your boss and tell him to get them altogether. I don't care what you tell him to make it happen. If you try and set up an ambush or warn any of them off, well. You've seen the news footage. You know what the Winter Soldier can do. Hurry up. I ain't got all night."

The man has the brains at least to do as he says.

The ringleader is the last to gather. He reeks of alcohol and chemicals Bucky can't place, a grin on his face that begs for a fist. "The fuck's this about? Who's this asshole?"

By way of answer, Bucky slides the jacket off his shoulders. He speaks over the collective gasp. "You are not to touch Brock Rumlow ever again. You will provide him with whatever he needs, without question. If you lay a finger on him again, you won't have any fingers left."

"Or what?" says their leader. " _You're_ gonna swoop in and save the day?"

There's another gasp through them.

"Are you insane?" someone behind Bucky hisses. "That's the fucking Winter Soldier!"

"Ain't you seen the news?" the man asks, still smirking. "He _was_ the Winter Soldier. And only when they programmed him to be. He's none of that now."

"Care to test it?" Bucky asks. He holds a little tighter to the bear.

"I don't beat up kids. Not unless they owe me. And that's all you are now, isn't it, Soldier? Some crying, bedwetting, little fag of a kid. That why you're standing up for Rumlow? He your new sugar daddy?"

Bucky doesn't speak.

"For Chrissakes," the man says, waving his hand out. "He's got a fucking teddy bear! You're all pissing yourselves over _this_? Your daddy come tell you to fight his battles for him? Guess you're still his good little attack puppy. I saw the trial--Rumlow knew the whole time, right? He fuck you too? Is that why you're so attached--"

The last thing Bucky remembers is throwing the bear.

Then he's walking. No, trudging. Slumped down, leaving squelching, wet puddles with each slap of his shoes to the pavement. He's moving back toward the hospital. The little drops of rainwater that run from his shoulders are pink.

It isn't fun at all.

\--

Brock falls asleep, almost exactly twenty minutes after Barnes leaves. As he falls under, he knows with a clarity that letting him go was probably the worst idea in the universe, but there's nothing to do about it now, nothing to do but wait for him to get back and maybe wake Brock up to tell him how far he went to keep Brock 'safe.' He feels even more helpless than usual right now, not even able to disconnect himself from a hospital bed, not able to do anything but wait and let Barnes fight his battles for him. 

\--

He goes back to the hospital. He can't go home. Being the Soldier taught Bucky how to slip through a crowd unseen, even dripping bloody water on the floor, but he can't hide from Daddy. He can't hide from JARVIS.

He's trembling by the time he reaches the Commander's hospital room, little breaths hitching in his throat. He can't cry. He's already been so bad. Bucky Bear is quiet; he'd wanted to stay with the dealers and clean things up. But Bucky had run away. Now he's cold and shivering and trying so hard not to cry. He pulls the sheets a little bit up and away from the Commander, careful not to pull on the IV line as he slips into the bed beside him, holding tight.

 

\--

Brock has dealt with many, many things in his life. And he's woken up to a surprising amount of things, too. But he does have to say, waking up high as a kite next to a trembling body is something that generally doesn't happen. He's careful not to move too much, just turning enough to take Bucky in. It's so odd, how much room he actually takes up in the bed, considering how small his presence is right now. Sometimes, when he's acting like a child, it's so spot-on that he almost _looks_ like one, too. Shrunk in to himself and taking up the least amount of space. It's sometimes hard to realize how big he actually is, how much of a hard-packed muscled form he is. 

He's soaked through and shivering, and Brock _knows_ there's fucking blood on him and the sheets. This is the closest Bucky has ever been to Brock, outside of hugging him. "You okay?" He asks blearily, the edges of the words heavily slurred. 

\--

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispers, burying his face against the Commander's shoulder. He's messed everything up. He's going to go to jail now and Daddy will probably blame the Commander, and then Rumlow will get locked up too even though he hadn't wanted Bucky to do any of this. "They w-won't bother you anymore, I promise."

He blinks and feels tears on his face. Bucky Bear is pressed between them, but for once squeezing him tight doesn't help at all.

\--

"Why're you- Shit, yeah, guess they won't." He says, and he _gets_ it. And he's immediately not surprised. Especially with how unhinged and flighty his personalities were earlier, Brock is not at all surprised that the Soldier took over and killed at _least_ one of those men. If it was even the Soldier. It could have been Barnes, he's killed people before. Could even be the kid, and that's why the poor thing is shivering and crying into his back. 

Still. This can be salvaged. Not by Brock- he's bedridden it seems. But. "How much- What'd you leave behind?"

\--

"I--I don't remember." All he can see are little flashes of blood and bones poking out of skin. "I was--I ran away so fast--I was scared and--" He cuts off, shaking his head. He's crying on Rumlow, his tears soaking into the hospital gown, but he can't stop. And the sheets are already stained with rain and blood and maybe crying isn't so awful right now. "I'm sorry."

\--

"Hey- fuck-, no it's. It's okay. You'll be okay." Brock mumbles, moving his head a little so that he's almost leaning his head on him, just touching Barnes' head in some sort of gesture. 'We're fine. So fine. Did- are you sleeping here tonight? With me?"

\--

"Can I?" He has a second of hope--maybe he can stay with the Commander, maybe he doesn't have to go home and make Daddy sad--but then he remembers the nurses. And the blood all over. "But--you'll get in trouble."

\--

"Eh, whatever. I don' care. Nurses can go fuck 'emselves." He tries to sit up a little, using Bucky as leverage. "Jus' clean yourself up a little in the bathroom."

\--

"Okay," Bucky whispers. He doesn't want to get up. He wants to stay next to the Commander until he's not crying anymore, or maybe forever. But that sounded like an order. And he's made such a mess already. Leaving Bucky Bear on the sheets, he slowly stands up.

\--

"Just enough so that you don't get blood all over. Okay? And then you can come back and sleep." Fuck, this whole scenario is fucked up, but Brock can hardly care right now, is hardly fucking _here_ right now. Everything is hazy and pleasant, it's hard to dwell on the fact that the kid killed a man. Or two. 

\--

Nodding, Bucky holds in a whimper. There's a little shower stall inside the bathroom but he ignores it, sticking his head in the sink instead to rinse away the blood. There are towels on top of the toilet tank and there's another hospital gown on top of them. Stripping to just his underwear, Bucky takes that and puts it on. There's not much blood on him now; most of it was on his clothes. He pushes the wet clothes behind the toilet before almost running back to the safety of the bed.

\--

Brock gives a soft _oof_ when Bucky all but collapses back in the bed, and as a token of... Solidarity, or whatever, he brings him closer to him, wrapping an unsteady arm around his body. He's clearly terrified, and Brock is.... Worried. Absolutely fucking worried about him. Things would probably be easier if he was in the Soldier's mentality right now, but clearly that's not happening. 

\--

"Daddy isn't gonna love me anymore," Bucky mutters, burying his face against the Commander's chest. He's not cold anymore, but he's still so shaky. Daddy's probably realized he's gone by now. He's probably worried sick. Bucky's phone is still in the bathroom, but even if it were here, he can't call him. He can't let Daddy know how awful he's been after everything Daddy's done for him.

\--

"No- no, that- That's not true, Bucky. I promise. If I know anything 'bout Rogers, it's that he loves you more than anything. To the point of wanting to consistently beat me up. "

\--

"I don't want him to beat you up!" Bucky yelps, squeezing even closer up against him. "I don't want anybody to fight or get hurt and I just hurt those people and--and--and--" He breaks off, words becoming gasps and gasps becoming hiccups.

\--

"Fuck, no, kid that's- I just meant he loves you a lot! All right? Relax, c'mon, everything's fine. If everything was shit, you think I'd pretend otherwise?"

\--

"I--I--" He likes Rumlow. And he's supposed to always listen and trust his handlers. But his last daddy was a handler too and everyone at the tower says his last daddy lied and manipulated him. "I dunno. I'm messed up and scared and--and I don't want you to be in trouble for the stuff I did."

\--

"If- we need to call Rogers, then. I'll be in more trouble if we don' call him soon." He's starting to be seriously concerned about the kid, and Rogers is probably worried fucking _sick._

\--

"But..." _But then he'll know how bad I was._ "He's gonna be so mad. At both of us."

\--

"He'll be _furious_ in the morning. Better now. For everyone."

\--

"My phone's in the bathroom," Bucky whispers. He really doesn't want to get up again. But he doesn't want to make Rumlow have to get up either. He feels like he might throw up even though there's nothing in his stomach but apple juice.

\--

"Alright. Stay here." Clearly he doesn't want to get up. And Brock isn't afraid to unhook himself and stumble to the bathroom, as embarrassing as it probably looks. He detaches himself from _Bucky_ first, before pulling out the morphine drip from his wrist and practically falling out of the bed. _Fuck,_ but the morphine makes him extremely loopy and woozy. It takes him five minutes too long to find Barnes' phone, and when he gets back to the bed, he calls a nurse in even before calling Rogers. He is _not_ calling Rogers while being unhooked from his pain-free liquid. 

Only once she leaves does he actually search through the contacts for Steve, pressing call with only a moment's hesitation. 

\--

Bucky watches the Commander stagger toward the bathroom with his hands clenched tight around Bucky Bear, holding his breath. He's afraid the Commander might fall, but the Commander ordered him to stay put. He can't get up to help. He's even more worried when the Commander calls in the nurse, but if she thinks it's weird that there's another person in a gown with a metal arm half-hidden under the sheets, she doesn't say anything.

He pulls the blankets all the way over his head when Rumlow starts looking through the phone, holding his breath again, shaking.


	2. Chapter 2

If possible, it's not even one full ring before Steve answers, and in the beat before he starts talking, Brock mentally sighs, because. This is going to be fun. Bucky's already shaking in fear, and Steve hasn't even fucking said anything yet. "He-"

"Bucky?! Where are you?" Is Steve's immediate, frantic response, and Brock can tell he's pissed off and terrified but trying to hide it behind layers of... Well, Brock's never figured out exactly what emotions Steve hides behind, but it's a lot of confusing, convoluted ones. 

"He's _fine_. He's sittin' right next to me." Brock says, and even if he weren't high as fuck, he'd try to sound as smooth and calm as possible, just to chap Steve's ass. _With_ the drugs, he's as smooth and slurred as can be. He can _hear_ Steve trying to figure out which train of thought to latch after right now. 

"...And where _are_ you? You're not at your apartment, and your apartment is trashed. Where the hell is Bucky?" Oh, now that Steve isn't talking to Bucky, he sounds _livid_. Like this is all Brock's fault. Like everything's fucking Brock's fault. 

Brock sighs, and says "We're at the hospital and!" He cuts in that 'and' as loud as possible, because he can already hear Steve trying to ram in more words, "It's for me. Not him. He's unharmed. Well, physically. Come as soon as you can. I'm too fucking loopy to deal with this right now." He tells Steve the hospital they're at and then hangs up, because he's _not_ dealing with anymore of Steve's voice. Nope, not at all. And when the phone continues to ring and ring, he looks at Bucky and smiles as nicely as possible. "He'll come soon."

\--

Bucky knows that the smiling is supposed to make him feel better. He doesn't feel better though. The phone keeps ringing and ringing and it sounds like an alarm. Some of the places he went on missions had alarms. If they went off, that meant the asset had been bad. It meant he would be punished. All he can think of now are punishments.

He doesn't think Daddy's going to punish him the same way his last daddy would. Daddy's never punished him at all, and Bucky feels like he's going to throw up or maybe wet the bed at the thought of what Daddy might do. At the thought of how sad Daddy will look that he has to punish him at all.

"Okay," is all Bucky says, but his voice shakes even with that one little word.

\--

"Are you tired? Maybe you should try sleeping for now. Just- You're gonna be fine. We are. Steve was just worried about where we were. He saw my apartment and got scared."

\--

"I dunno if I can sleep," Bucky mumbles, but he closes his eyes all the same. Bucky Bear agrees that it would help. He tries not to feel the knot in his stomach growing tighter and tighter, tries just to hear Rumlow's heartbeat.

\--

"Well, try a little. You might feel better." Brock says, and leans in close to Bucky again, wrapping an arm around him again while he waits for Steve to get there.

It doesn't take long- Steve is clearly in a hurry, and it's only a half hour later that he's banging through the door of the hospital room, clearly trying not to seem frantic but totally fucking failing in that regard. He sees Brock holding Bucky close and steps to the foot of the bed, gives Brock a look, and Brock rolls his eyes and moves away from touching the kid. 

\--

It's not like falling asleep. It's more like fainting. His heart is beating so fast and even though his breathing isn't too fast, it feels like he's not getting enough air in. He stays there, trying to sleep, growing tenser and tighter until he hears footsteps banging down the hall. He can guess who it is. And just like that, just as Daddy's coming through the door, Bucky's out, dead weight against the mattress.

That leaves Steve and Brock, and the bear slipping out of Bucky's unconscious grip. The bear's the only one who looks happy to be there, probably because his mouth is embroidered that way. And also he's inanimate, the lucky bastard. Steve takes a moment to confirm Bucky's asleep before crossing his arms. "Why's he in a hospital gown if you said he wasn't hurt?"

\--

Brock looks over at Bucky once he hears Steve's tone of voice and is surprised he's sleeping. He clearly wasn't a moment ago, way too tense and flighty to be anything but fully conscious and aware. That's worrying, but. Better let him sleep. "Because he. Fuck, Rogers, he isn't hurt, but I'm pretty sure he killed someone. Like an hour ago."

\--

" _What_?!" He winces as soon as he's shouted, but Bucky doesn't stir. Even sleeping, he looks like hell. "What happened?" Steve demands in a low growl, teeth clenched. "What do you mean killed someone? Who? What have you done to him?"

\--

"Oh, so this is _all_ my fault now. Fuck. I didn't _ask_ for him to come over and take me to the hospital, Rogers. I told him to leave at _least_ fifty times. It's not my fault he's unhinged as a goddamn bat." Well. Maybe it is. Maybe it's completely his fault that Barnes has three different fucking personalities. If it's not his fault, then he's at least complacent in the blame. 

\--

Steve doesn't bother to challenge that, much as he wants to sneer and ask Rumlow how he could ever imagine his hands are clean where Bucky's concerned. He wants to knock his teeth out for the dig at Bucky's sanity. But he swallows it back, much as it pains him to do so. None of that will help Bucky now. And helping Bucky always takes precedence. "What. Happened. From the beginning."

\--

"Some bastards I owed money to cornered me and beat me up. As much of some evil mastermind as you think I am, Rogers, I ain't such a great fighter anymore. Barnes came over and demanded he take me to the hospital. And- fuck, but he kept- going back and forth. Between himself, and then the kid, and the- the Soldier. The Soldier was definitely the one that took me to the hospital, and is probably the one that went back 'n killed those fuckers." Brock sighs and rubs his hands against his eyes, careful not to rustle with the morphine drip too much. He glances over at Bucky, just to make sure he's still sleeping, still away from the fuckin' world for the moment. "He wanted to go after them. I- Man, it's hard not to fuckin' talk right now, about anything. He probably got the information outta me and then left and- he's _unhinged_. He came back covered in blood as the _kid._ "

\--

Steve hisses a breath through his teeth. He's not seeing Rumlow now, staring only at Bucky's still form on the bed. He looks so small, so fragile, even though less than an hour ago he tore someone apart. How could Steve have been stupid enough to let him out of his sight for so long? He _knew_ Bucky had gone to Rumlow before, damn it. He knew nothing good could come of it. And now Bucky's more broken than ever. Now he's left God knows how many bodies in his wake.

"How much did...did he know?" Steve asks. His voice sounds so small, he isn't sure Rumlow can hear it. "When he came back. When he was young. Did he know what he did?"

\--

"...Yeah. He knew. Not the details. I asked him if he covered his tracks and he couldn't remember. I think- It seems like he became the kid _while_ killing. 'Cause he remembers some. He was _terrified_. Shaking and curled up to me." Brock doesn't say how terrified Bucky was of Steve being mad. He could, he could fuck Steve up over that, but he won't. Not right now. 

\--

He's tried, he's tried so _hard_ ever since that day he'd promised to be whatever Bucky needed, to keep from cracking under the pressure. No matter what horrible memories Bucky related so casually while he cuddled his teddy bear. No matter what sickening hate mail poured into the tower during the trial. And he can feel himself splintering, the whole of him fracturing into increasingly small, sharp shards. He swallows down the jagged edges. Not yet. He can't go to pieces yet. Bucky needs his protection. A jail cell or a psych ward can't help him; he'll only retreat so far inside himself that he'll never come back out.

"Do you," Steve says, swallowing again. His throat is so dry. "Do you know anyone in this city...who could be trusted to dispose of whatever he left?"

\--

"What, the Avengers don't know how to do that?" Brock sighs, rubs his face. "Besides myself and Barnes here, yeah. I do. But they're probably in the same damn situation as me, and wouldn't answer a phone call from a former fucking terroist coworker." The easiest way would be to trigger the Soldier and have _him_ take care of it, but that would seem way too like manipulating Bucky for Brock to even _think_ about it long. 

\--

"Yeah," Steve admits. He'd wanted to keep them out of it. He knows they would in a heartbeat, anything for Bucky, but he's already asked so much of them and making them complacent in a crime makes him feel cold and rotten inside. As if he's only now begun to thaw from the ice, and what's emerging is blackened and dead. "Did he say _where_ it happened? Do you know?"

\--

"No. And I doubt the kid knows, either. Know where the fuckers generally are but-" He shrugs and sighs again. Tonight is too much. "Not the specifics. "

\--

Steve thinks he curses. His mind is buzzing with so many thoughts and fears that he honestly isn't sure. "We need to wake him up," he says, hating himself for even thinking of it. He doesn't move any closer to the bed. He can't bring himself to tear away the one comfort Bucky has now.

\--

Brock doesn't think he's ever seen Steve this frantic before. Never seen his true emotions this close to the surface, except when he first saw the Soldier on that bridge. Fuck, it's horrible. He nods slowly and tries to jostle Bucky lightly with his hand, hoping to wake him up without having to _shake_ him. 

\--

Bucky wakes as suddenly and violently as he fell to sleep, body jolting the way it used to under the electricity. For a second, he can't remember where he is, and his first, frantic act is to check the state of the bed sheets. Then he remembers. And just as his heart is sinking down along with his stomach, he glimpses blond hair from the corner of his eye. With a horrified, choked whimper, Bucky pulls the sheet over himself, hidden beneath it. He pulls Bucky Bear so close to his chest that the bear is flattened, rocking a little.

\--

Steve's expression immediately closes off, turned away. All the walls fall in place when he sees Bucky hide from him. Bucky is _terrified_ of him, because of Pierce's sick games telling Bucky that he'll hurt him, punish him. He can't show how much that hurts him, not when Bucky is a shivering mess. He hasn't seen him freak out this much in a long, long time, and only after a moment he says, softly, "Hey, Bucky. You can come out, buddy."

\--

He doesn't want to come out. But Daddy might get even angrier than he must already be the more that Bucky hides. And if Bucky's not around to be mad at, then the Commander's going to get all the blame. He hopes Daddy hasn't already yelled at the Commander. Slowly, shaky, Bucky sits up in bed, sliding the blanket down inch by inch. He can't look up, eyes still locked on Bucky Bear. "This isn't the Commander's fault he didn't want me to do anything for him he said I should go home but I wanted to help and I wouldn't listen."

\--

Steve blinks at the sudden barrage of words coming from Bucky's mouth, and he latches on to figure out what the fuck he's saying, considering there's absolutely no verbal cues to when a sentence ends. But. Oh. Did he blame Brock. He flicks his eyes momentarily to the man, who raises an eyebrow at him, which makes Steve hold back a sigh. "Don't worry, Buck. No yelling. You woulda woken up, right?" He tries to give a lopsided grin, something without worry, but it's probably strained. Like everything else. 

\--

"I just wanted to help," Bucky whispered. He can't look away from his bear, too afraid of the look he'll see on Daddy's face. "I just wanted to scare the people who wanted to hurt the Commander. That's it. But then...things didn't work right and I don't know and I didn't mean to hurt anybody..." His voice breaks off in a choked sob and Bucky goes white. He never, ever cries in front of Daddy. Crying is bad. But he can't help it.

\--

Which of course means that Steve doesn't see Bucky cry. And seeing him do so now is a shock to his system; he blinks for a second before he's crowding the bed, kneeling at the side of it so he can be on a similar level to Bucky, so he won't scare him. "Bucky, no. It's alright. I promise. You should have called me. I would have helped. I _will_ help."

\--

"But I was really, really bad." Bucky wrenches his eyes shut. He wants to reach out, but he doesn't know if he wants to hold onto Daddy or the Commander, and anyway his fingers seem locked around his bear. "I really hurt those people...I broke the law. You can't help. You'd get in trouble."

\--

"I'll always help. Me and- And Rumlow will both help. You're not in trouble, we just need to- We need to fix this, right? You're not in trouble. No one is. But we need to know where you fought those men." He fucking hates this. He hates that he has to talk to Bucky as though he's a child, because he _is_ a child. 

\--

"In an apartment," Bucky mumbles, wiping his face against his arm. "I dunno which one of them it belongs to. I found one and--and told him to get everybody together, and that's where he took me."

\--

"Can-" He hates to ask, he really does but "Can you take me there? I need to- We have to clean the apartment. So that we don't get in trouble."

\--

Bucky starts to nod. He doesn't want to go back there, not ever, but he doesn't want anyone to be in trouble either. He's about to get up, but then Bucky Bear remembers something. He straightens, although he still doesn't look up. "My clothes--they're in the bathroom and they're bloody. There's blood on these sheets too, and I think I got some on the Commander. And this hospital has security cameras--there's going to be footage of me exiting and re-entering with the blood on me."

\--

Steve scratches behind his ear. Fuck. He really didn't want to bring anyone else into this, but.... He has no choice. "It's fine. We'll- Tony can help. He'll be able to help out."

\--

"I can take you there." He'll either have to put the wet, bloody clothes back on or exit in the gown, but if the security footage will be cleared, he supposes his attire upon leaving won't matter. "I don't remember if I closed the door behind me. I...was under duress."

\--

"Don't worry about it. We'll be able to fix it, whatever you left." They should go now, though. He would love to let him rest, let him sit there and even sleep with Brock, but... They have to fix this as quick as they can. 

\--

With a nod, he reluctantly extracts himself from the sheets, slowly standing. His gaze remains fixed on the bear the entire time. "Did you drive here?" If they're going on foot, the hospital gown will draw far too much attention. Then again, even if they go by car, they'll have to park some distance away to avoid anyone connecting the license plate to the crime scene. Even bloodied, his clothes are a better option. Not waiting for an answer, he shuffles toward the bathroom to retrieve them.

\--

"Yeah, I drove." Steve says and then looks at Brock, who shrugs a little. He's still massively worried about Bucky, but even these small levels of independence at the moment are good, considering he needs Bucky having a level head while they clean up this mess. He's planning on smothering the kid in love when this is over. But for now he- He really would rather the kid stayed away. 

\--

The clothes are still damp, but the blood is beginning to dry, at least. It looks brownish now and, thanks to the rain, doesn't smell too strongly of iron. Anyone who doesn't already know that it's blood may mistake it for something else. He wishes he'd brought something to tie his hair back. Beyond the arm, his hair is the most recognizable feature.

When he emerges from the bathroom, he finally looks up, though he can only make his eyes focus on Rumlow. "The Commander needs to remain here and recuperate. It's vital that he has his hospitalization as an alibi if these men can be traced back to him."

\--

"He wasn't going to come if he was healthy, anyways." Steve says shortly, and he can see Brock roll his eyes in his peripheral. "It just happens that it's to our advantage."

\--

Bucky will need an alibi as well, but they can cover that after the bodies are disposed of. Anyway, he's almost completely sure that Steve Rogers would willingly lie for him. "We'll need to move quickly," he says, crossing to the doorway. "I can't remember if I shut the door after me. You should try to sleep, Commander. That will help you to avoid any questioning that may arise until we've developed a plan."

\--

Brock raises an eyebrow again and gives what looks like a difficult to execute mocking salute. "You two have all the fun, then, huh? While I take a nap. I'm not complaining, though." 

\--

"Be safe," he says, trailing out the door. Steve will follow. He wonders briefly what will happen after all of this, what his punishment will be for behaving so very badly, but this isn't the time. Cleanup always takes precedence over punishment.

\--

Steve does. This is, unfortunately, something that he has to let Bucky lead. He has to hope he doesn't get too frazzled with the events and hope to _god_ , or whatever there is out there, that the kid doesn't show up at the murder scene. He doesn't know if he can handle him at that point. 

\--

He makes it to the doors without wavering. Only then does he stop, turning his head to meet Steve's eye for the first time since his arrival. "Where are you parked?" It's such a little thing, not knowing where the car is, but the sudden lack of information, combined with all the emotions he can see Steve struggling to hide, jars his stability like a windstorm, threatening to blow him over. He can feel his gloved hand clench down on the door. The metal isn't warping under his fingers. Not yet.

\--

"Just in front. Drove the bike, so you'll have to hop on back." He _should_ have brought a car, but he was too frantic, too much in a hurry to really be thinking about the best type of vehicle to take to the hospital. It's _loud_ too, for this kind of mission, but. It's what they have. They can make it work. He looks Bucky up and down, and the fact that this is the first time he's looked at Steve the entire time he's been here isn't lost on him. It worries him- his moods and the surface level of emotions on Bucky's face are concerning, _erratic_. 

\--

The bike. His heart sinks. If he's on the back of the bike, he'll have to hold onto Steve to stay stable. If he puts his arms around Steve now, he thinks he may shatter into a thousand pieces. At the very least, he'll go back to playacting a sniveling child. No. This is a mission. He cannot be so disobedient. He will have to endure. He's endured worse than this.

"Fine," is all that he says. There's only the faintest squeal of wrenching metal as he pulls his hand free, and then he's walking without a glance back.

\--

He's working on autopilot right now- any other moment, and he'd be asking Bucky what was wrong, trying to get him to be a little more stable. At the very least, he'd get him away from this situation. But he can't, he needs Bucky to help, and it's so shitty and he's going to beat himself up over it later, and he's going to break down by himself the moment he can, but for now, he just has to keep a stiff upper lip and move in front of Bucky to lead him out of the hospital and to his motorcycle. He has to pretend everything is okay and under control. It should be easy- he's done it for years, done it when necessary, but.... He's always had a harder time doing this with Bucky. 

\--

He cannot think of Steve now. Settling onto the back of the bike, he tries to see the man before him as a handler, nothing more. But it's _Steve_ and he's not meant to disappoint his handlers either and how could he have messed this up so _badly_ , it was almost never wrong to kill on his other missions. Wrapping his shaking arms around the handler's waist, he shuts his eyes, muttering the address in the man's ear.

\--

Steve is so worried. But he chokes it down, gives a soft affirmative and starts driving to the location. It's not too far away, a couple miles at the most, but it feels like an eternity with Bucky shaking on his back, shaking as though his mind is trying to destroy his stability. Cleaning this mess up cannot end soon enough. 

\--

It seems he did have the presence of mind to close the apartment door. That, or someone else did, but he doubts anyone else has stopped by. He vaguely recalls a lot of blood on the floor, and there aren't any bloodied footprints leading away down the pavement. Even his own have since washed away in the rain. Pulling away from his handle the instant the bike comes to a halt, he races toward the door, throwing it open.

He supposes the apartment is as he left it. He hadn't realized how much he'd torn the bodies apart, though.

\--

Steve has to stop the surprised inhalation of breath that wants to occur at the sight of the carnage inside. He stays behind Bucky as he tracks the scene with his eye, and he wants to fucking puke on the floor. He doesn't, of course, but the thought of Bucky, his Bucky, doing this to anyone is a terrifying, horrible, _disgusting_ thought. "We- We need to remove the bodies. You've- You've cleaned something up like this before?" He hasn't- He's had to make things less _obvious_ , but they need to clean the place up to portray a scene much more benign than what actually happened. He doesn't know how to make a murder scene clean. 

\--

"Yes." Many times, although occasionally there were cleaning crews. Some bodies were dissolved in acid. Once they had chopped a body into very small pieces and flushed them down the toilet. That may be useful here, assuming this apartment building doesn't use septic tanks. "We'll need to remove the blood from the hardwood. I'll check the bathroom for bleach. Any towels we use to mop it up can be burned." 

\--

"Right." He has to stay steady, if not for himself then for Bucky, but he's not pretending to be in charge here. He doesn't know the processes here, but Bucky does. 

He goes through the rooms of the apartment to look for towels and washcloths while Bucky searches for the bleach, and finally emerges with a few bath towels. Ratty and seen better days, but they should do enough. 

\--

"I'll dispose of the bodies if you want to clean up the floors," he offers, having found a bottle of bleach below the kitchen sink. It seems wisest for both of them in terms of emotional stamina to stay separated now, and Steve looks ill. Besides, a handler shouldn't have to dispose of the waste.

\--

Steve nods, happy to do whatever he can to. Help this. When they finish this, they're going immediately home and Steve'll talk to Tony about the cameras and about anything else that can be done. With a mental plan in motion, it's a lot easier to just do the tasks that he needs. He understands that disposing the bodies is a much worse task and that he shouldn't have Bucky do it alone but... Bucky know how to. He hates tapping into this side of Bucky, but it feels necessary, and it's much more efficient than if he were to coax out a softer side of Buck.

\--

With that decided, he begins rummaging through the kitchen for knives of any sort. There's a twinge of guilt nagging in his stomach--blades are not allowed and very bad--but this is his mission. His handler agreed. And the bodies have to be disposed of. The knives he finds won't cut through bone, but his arm can easily snap anything the knives can't handle. Being very careful not to look at Steve, he brings the knifes into the bathroom and drops them in the sink. Then he starts the task of dragging the broken bits of corpses in after him. They're too deep into the city for septic tanks to be used, he's decided. The best method with the least chance of being seen is to dice and flush the bodies.

\--

Steve tries to both be aware of Bucky and ignore the actual task being carried on at the same time. He pushes himself into the task of washing the floors, getting rid of any of the evidence. The floors will end up being cleaner than they've been in years, let alone just covering up the murder scene. He hopes however Bucky is planning on removing them- he's insanely happy that whatever method it is, it seems to involve staying where Steve can keep an eye on him, in the apartment- it takes quickly. 

\--

This is going to make a mess. He considers stripping down, but his clothing will have to be burned after all of this anyway. He sets to work stripping flesh from bone, using mostly the strength of his left hand to do the work. The knives are not high quality and will likely dull quickly. There's no sense in rendering them useless before they're truly needed. The bones, he decides, cannot be readily broken down into small enough pieces. They will needed to be bagged and then either taken home and dissolved in acid, or weighted and dumped into the sea.

He loses himself in the tearing and slicing, jolting a little when the first flush of the water pulls him back to the present. He hopes Steve is not near to done yet. He doubts Steve would like to watch what he's doing.

\--

It takes him longer than normal, perhaps because he loses himself in the motions of scrubbing and cleaning, and partially because he also doesn't want to finish before Bucky. When he does finish, he wanders through the apartment just to make certain that he left nothing uncleaned, that every surface is cleaner than it's ever been and that fingerprints or anything of the like won't be an issue for any of them. 

\--

The thing about bodies, particularly bodies of grown men, is how much of them there are. Thanks to his enhanced strength and speed, he's disposed of the flesh quickly enough--it helps that he had torn much of it during the killings themselves--but the organs are considerably less simple. He ends up standing over the bathtub, running the water as he tries to let stomachs and intestines drain.

\--

Steve eventually does wander to the bathroom and watches for a moment before asking, "Is there anything I can do to help?" He doesn't want to be in the way, but he also doesn't want to make Bucky have to do the worst of it, all by himself. The sight of him draining and flushing organs and flesh is disturbing and horrifying, but he squelches down his nausea, stays level headed. 

\--

"We'll need something to collect the bones," he answers, not turning his head. He's afraid that looking at Steve with the knives so close by and the scent of blood all around will cause more problems. "A bag or a suitcase. Something of that size. I can snap them to fit."

\--

The tone of his voice makes Steve want to shrivel and cry, but he just nods, exits the bathroom and searches through the apartment for something of adequate size. It's not hard- there's several duffel bags in one of the rooms that he assumes were used with the drug trafficking. He grabs two and brings it back to the bathroom after a few minutes of steadying his breath in the other room, keeping himself level. 

\--

"I'll put the bones in." He shouldn't make Steve touch the mess. Leaving the organs to drain, he turns his attention to the bones he's piled on the far end of the bath. Most of them should fit without much struggle; the duffel bags are long enough. The ribs, though, will take up too much space, so he sets about snapping them.

\--

It makes him uncomfortable to let Bucky do this all on his own. It makes him uncomfortable seeing this, seeing his friend and seeing their childhood reflected in his face. Even if Bucky is somehow mentally okay by all of this, _Steve_ is going to need a weekend with Bucky to decompress and just bask in the fact that they're okay. 

\--

"We can dissolve the bones in acid." That seems to be the best method. Absolutely no trace will be left. "All I need to do is finishing cutting and flushing the organs and then we can go. Did you have any trouble removing the blood? We should wipe down everything we've touched to hide the prints."

\--

"Already taken care of. Just have to clean up this room once we're done here. Tony can help with the acid." Steve says. He eyes the organs in the tub and then glances away, shrugging as casually as he can. 

\--

"You may not want to be here when I resume cutting. I don't want to hurt you." _I didn't want to hurt anyone_ , he thinks, but he doesn't say it. It's weak. He cannot be weak now.

\--

Steve regards him for a moment, his face completely shut down, before he gives a short nod and says "Let me know if you want me to help with anything." He leaves the room, goes back to the main living room to check over the cleanliness one more time, and then leans against the wall and drops his face into his hands. Just a moment. A moment to realize the _insanity_ of one night when Bucky gets erratic. It's terrifying. He wants to destroy Hydra all over again. 

\--

His hand is shaking, so he switches the knife to the left. They need to be out of here quickly; the more time they spend in this space increases their chances of leaving behind evidence or being discovered. But once they're gone, once Tony's taken care of the rest, then there will be nothing but himself and Steve and the weight of his disobedience.

He doesn't let his voice shake when he gathers the bags and stands in the doorway. "It's done. All we need to do is wash the knives and put them back."

\--

Steve lifts his head and immediately comes forward. "I'll wash them." He wants to do something useful, needs to use his hands and doesn't want Bucky doing anything else for. Forever. However long he can manage. 

\--

He steps to the side to let Steve access the sink where he's left the knives. Setting the bags down by the exterior door, he leaves Steve to it as he scans the floor. No footprints, no hairs he can spot. The place is clean. Once the towels and clothing are burned and the bones dissolved, they'll be untraceable.

It strikes him that his teddy bear is still in Rumlow's hospital bed. His stomach plummets. No, he can't mention it. He's caused enough problems without making Steve double back. Anyway, there are other bears at the tower.

\--

Once the knives are cleaned and set back, he grabs the dirty towels and gestures to the bags. It's going to be a pain carrying everything while riding on his bike, all the way back to the Tower, and it's fucking annoying that they are carrying a bag full of bones in a vehicle that doesn't have an interior, but- They'll manage. "Good? C'mon." No words of praise or happiness- this isn't over until everything is dissolved and the bodies no longer exist in a molecular form that could be considered 'human'. 

\--

"I'll carry the bags." Steve will need his hands free to steer. He holds in a sigh--riding again will mean holding on to Steve again--but he cannot break. He cannot cry. This is his mess and it's his responsibility to clean it up. He should be grateful that Steve didn't shove his face in it and leave him to rot.

\--

He gives a nod and tries not to feel the pull of exhaustion that's already hanging heavy over the forefront of his mind. They're almost done, he can drown his mind when they get back. They're almost fucking done. He gets settled on the bike and turns to make sure Bucky is following, makes sure the apartment looks fine. It looks better than when they came in, minus the occupants. Minus the life that was there. 

\--

He follows Steve onto the bike and closes his eyes as he holds on. It's dangerous--he needs to stay alert, keep watch, make sure they aren't pursued--and it's amateur. But he's trembling again. Everything feels so tight, as though his whole body is metal now, metal held together with a single rivet. And it's weakening under the strain.

\--

Steve checks to make sure Bucky is held on tight and notices the closed eyes, feels the shaking. He won't say anything about it now- it would be cruel and useless. But when they get back.... There has to be a discussion about this, no matter how painful it is on either side. Even if Steve has to lock the two of them in a room until they figure out what the fuck happened and how to get passed it, it has to happen. He kicks off and starts driving, and this time, he'd prefer if the drive were slower. The way in, he'd wanted it to be fast, wanted this to be over but now, so close to finishing the deed, so close to being Allowed to have an emotional waterfall spill over the edge of the ever-filling tub, he wants anything but. 

He could sit on the motorcycle, driving around New York with Bucky hanging off his back, and in some small part of his mind, he can pretend the shivering is because it's cold. He can pretend there was no murder. That there was no torture and no Hydra, and that he's just letting Bucky hang onto him, like he used to hang onto Bucky, in this brave new world. In some alternate version in his head where things weren't fucked up, and things were okay, and he'd be able to be close to Bucky in ways that didn't border on deranged. Steve shuts out the thoughts immediately, closes a window down over his eyes. It's no use pretending and conjuring up 'ifs.' There's still bags of bones on his person and he has to _dissolve_ people, people killed by his best friend. Pretending things aren't fucked up is insanity, but sometimes he wishes he was given the privilege of being a little insane.

\--

He never thought he would miss the chair.

Once, when he was told to be young, when he was in the bath and Pierce was combing through his hair, he had asked not to go back. He had wanted to stay with his daddy, said that he would be an even better little boy and an even better soldier if he could hold onto his memories. He said he didn't ever want to risk forgetting how much Daddy loved him. Pierce had given him a sad little smile and told him that he had to go to the chair, that he'd get confused and maybe hurt himself if he didn't.

His mistake was in asking again after he had been denied.

There had been a harsh reminder about obedience then, a punishment which left a fair amount of his hair torn out and circling the drain.

The chair hurt more than any mission injury, more than any poison gas burning his eyes and throat. He was weak whenever he left the chair, disoriented, useless. It shamed him every time he came back to himself, to realize what a pathetic mess he'd been, and in the presence of others besides. He had felt a strange, dim lightness in his chest when Steve had told him the tower had no chair.

But if they could put him in it now, he wouldn't have to remember. Wouldn't have to see the mangled corpses when he shuts his eyes. And best of all, they could burn the violence out of him. Go deep, deep down until he'll never disappoint Steve again.

But that would leave Steve alone with these memories. And that would be just as bad.

\--

Steve's knuckles are white and strained around the handlebars of the motorcycle. The closer they get to Lower Manhattan, the more tension he feels wrapping around his spine. He can feel every movement Bucky makes behind him, can feel the small jitters and shakes that he _knows_ are the result of him trying _not_ to shake. Which just means that they're both so, so close to breaking down, here and now. Even as he wants to slow down, to stop and sit at the side of the road and breathe, he speeds up as fast as he can, knows better than to give into his emotions at the moment. 

It's moments like these, where even though he knows, logically, that his body is big and strong and won't break down, moments like these where he feels worse than when he was 90 pounds and had pneumonia. It's times like these where he feels two seconds away from an asthma attack. And they never used to scare him- well, they did, perhaps, but he never took his conditions as seriously as he should have. Always leaping out into danger, and maybe because Bucky was there. At least partially. Sure, he could prove himself to be a bigger man than his body hinted at, but there was nothing better than Bucky patching him up and showing Steve that someone, _someone_ , cared. He may have been at his deathbed, but Bucky would be there giving him goofy faces and pouring out some sort of love. Whatever type it was, it was all Steve needed. 

(And of course, he was greedy, wanted more, wanted more and _still_ wants more, even if it's wrong and unbidden and will never happen, but he'll take those thoughts, and all the rest of his guilt to the grave with him.)

He feels a shiver run through him when he finally parks and stands staring at the Tower for just a moment, just a moment before he's glancing to make sure Bucky is following and moving behind him. The second he's inside, even before he's made it to the _elevator_ , he says "Jarvis, if Tony isn't awake, wake him up. It's urgent." 

\--

JARVIS doesn't ask any questions. The AI has no doubt already registered their heart rates, identified the stains on his clothing as blood, and maybe scanned the bags he carries. He acknowledges Steve's request, confirms that he will alert Stark, but then there's only Steve and himself and the quiet hum of the elevator.

He leans against the wall. He has to, or he may collapse. Collapsing isn't an option. He can hear Pierce's voice in his head now, scolding, telling him what an awful boy he's been, and how could anyone ever love something like him? He recognizes the voices of handlers whose faces he can no longer bring to mind, calling him worthless, a failure, a bad dog. That doesn't hurt so much. That's a sting he's used to bearing.

What cuts the deepest are the fragments of memories, thin and light as spiderweb, drifting under the dark curtain the electricity made in his mind. Steve. Younger, smaller. Smiling. A real smile, and not the carefully guarded stare he always wears now. Once, he had relied on Bucky. Once, Bucky had been trustworthy. Had been useful. And now look at him. A broken weapon. That was the one skill he had left and now he's tearing up in an elevator over a few dismemberments.

By the time they reach the right floor, he can hear his breaths growing faster, louder.

\--

Steve tries to ignore Bucky's breathing but it starts to get heavier, more frantic, and by the time the elevator opens, Steve holds one hand between the doors to keep it open and places another hand lightly on Bucky's shoulder. He leans in and says, soft and light as he can (which is hard, so hard, he wants to let the hammer fall and shatter his being so bad), "If you want to head to bed, I can take the bags and talk to Tony. I'll be- I still wanna talk, though." _Before we sleep_ , is what he means to end that with, but he stops. There likely won't be any sleeping. 

Already, he wants to take back his words. He doesn't want Bucky to leave his side, wants Bucky to stay and let Steve watch over him, even while he talks to Tony. But it's- if it's easier, he'll let him go. Besides. Steve knows it's irrational to want Bucky to stay _so close_. 

\--

He shakes his head. The mission isn't done yet. This is _his_ fault, his mistake, his bad, bad, bad--he cannot run away from this until it's done. And there might be information Stark needs that only he can provide. Besides, he needs a handler. Everything that's happened tonight is proof of that.

_I'm all right_ , he tries to say, but the words go dry and sharp in his throat. He isn't allowed to lie.

\--

Steve is stuck for just a moment longer, his head warring with him on what to do. Part of him wants to _tell_ Bucky to go to bed. But he wouldn't- he can't. And he wants Bucky with him, so he merely gives him a worried look before nodding, stepping aside to let Bucky go first. 

\--

"We need acid," he tells Stark, not because that's the best information to start with, but because it's all he can bring himself to say.

"Uh--" Stark begins, but he isn't through yet.

"We'll also need you to access and either alter or delete security footage from the Elmhurst Hospital." He sets the bags down and strips off his jacket. "And lastly, kerosene and a match."

"Uh," Stark repeats. "Nice to see you too, Spock. Anybody wanna tell me what the hell's going on?"

\--

Steve sucks in a breath and steps in behind Bucky. It takes a second, but he can eventually say without his voice wavering, "It's a long story. But there's a body in those bags and we need them gone. Now. And we need the footage of Bucky bloody and entering the hospital altered." He has no patience; he prays silently that Tony doesn't _start_ with his nonsense, not now. 

\--

There's very much movement to Stark's face, and it seems that he's about to say any number of things. But he doesn't, and the Soldier feels a rush of relief that he doesn't deserve. He does not dislike Stark and he does not want to hurt him. But he's tired and shaking and feels like he's going to pieces as readily as those bones will once they're submerged in the acid. He does not _want_ to hurt Stark, but he doesn't know that he could stop himself.

"I'm going to ask what this is all about," Stark says finally. "But I won't do it tonight. Barnes, what part of the hospital did you come through?"

"The doors of the emergency room." He means to lean against the wall as he did in the elevator, but he ends up slumping until he's sitting on the floor.

\--

Steve glances at Bucky once before stepping forward to meet Tony, giving him a quick look of gratitude that he's going to give them space for the time being. "I'll give you the full story tomorrow, just- Please." Do this quickly and do it without questions and he'll answer _anything_ Tony could ever want.

\--

"Right. Yeah, sure, no prob--" And then Stark cuts himself off, because obviously there is a problem. A massive one. But he'll leave that to Steve for now, and just hope that the Star-Spangled Man has a plan for this mess. "Just...take care of him. I've got this."

\--

"You're sure? Make sure to throw the bags in acid. And we'll need to burn Bucky's clothes soon." Steve doesn't want to sound _dismissive_ but... He is. He likes Tony, and appreciates this, but he wants nothing more than to go now. Lock himself away. 

\--

"Just bring me his clothes once you're..." Stark glances them over, working his tongue in his mouth as though he'll taste the most delicate phrasing before he says it. "...sorted out. I'll get started on this."

\--

Steve gives Tony another grateful look before he moves over to Bucky, holding out a hand to help him back up. "Ready to go? Let's clean you up, okay?" He's not sure if Bucky paid any attention to his and Stark's conversation, so he keeps as gentle as possible. 

\--

He puts the metal hand in Steve's. He can't let him feel the shaking. He can't _look_ at him. He's not a soldier now; he's a mess of blood and nothingness, a hollow shell that will flake apart at the slightest provocation. "'Kay."

\--

Steve gives a stiff smile and pulls him up, leading him back to the elevator. He'd use the stairs if he thought it would be better- it certainly would give them more room. But he thinks _less_ moving is ideal. "We'll just get you in the bath and then we can- Then we can lay down." 

\--

His eyes are suddenly, sharply stinging, and he can't help but blink. There's wet on his face now that isn't blood, hot and trailing down his skin. He can't hear the elevator for the rush of blood and white noise that seems to fill his ears.

_Then we can lay down._

It's Steve's right. He's been bad enough to warrant it. And nothing ever really changes.

\--

Steve- Steve doesn't know what to do. He probably chooses the wrong route, and just waits until the elevator opens, waits until he ushers both Bucky and himself out of the small, tiny space before he turns to Bucky, and places a hand on his shoulder, worry etched into all of his features. He may be only thirty, physically, but he doesn't look it right now. Right now he looks like every single year has been carved into his eyes, carved into his face like a tree has rings. "Bucky, what's- Please tell me what's wrong." His voice cracks but he doesn't even notice it- seeing Bucky cry, seeing Bucky this far broken is too much, is just the right amount of leverage for the levee to break, for the emotions to crash down. It's all he can do at the moment to not cry; even so, he feels the sharp sting of tears at the back of his eyes. 

This night has been everything he has ever been worried about. Everything he feared would happen, and by the way he feels and the way Bucky looks- crying, covered in blood and so _small_ \- it's exactly how his nightmares have played out. When everything falls apart and everything goes to _shit_. He probably deserves it. He always does. But Bucky doesn't. Bucky doesn't deserve to feel this, he deserves happiness and safety and a stability that Steve can't offer him. The hand on Bucky's shoulder shakes slightly- it's the least amount of movement he can possibly have right now, because he wants to collapse, he wants to fall to Bucky's feet and just pray, just pray for him to be okay. 

\--

"I didn't mean to," Bucky whispers. He shrinks further in himself with those words; he feels so small in that instant, he doesn't understand how Steve's hand can stay steady on his shoulder. He should shut up, he knows that. Excuses are manipulative. Excuses are bad. He deserves to be punished. He's done even worse than hurt-- _kill_ \--tonight. He's disobeyed Steve. Steve has only ever been nice to him, nicer than he deserved. And now Steve is going to punish him and he _deserves_ it, but the words are spilling out like the tears and he just can't stop either one.

"I didn't want to hurt them I just wanted to make sure they wouldn't hurt the Commander again but then--then they said--and they--they said I c-c-couldn't do anything, they said I was w-weak now and then they said Rumlow probably did the same s-stuff that Daddy did and he wouldn't do that, he would _n-n-never_ do that and I just got so mad and I don't know what happened I didn't mean to do it I'm sorry I'm _so sorry_."

\--

Steve has to suck in a bottom lip to stop himself from collapsing right here and now. To stop himself from breaking down into a million pieces and crying into a heap. He has to- He has to be the strong one. Bucky's allowed to not be strong anymore, it's okay, he's earned it, he's- It's Steve's turn to help. Steve can't be weak, he can't break. Not when Bucky needs him. 

None of this happened to Steve. Steve has no right wanting to break apart, when the very real fact of the matter is that this is _Bucky's_ reality. 

As strong as he pretends, as he _needs_ to be, he's going to break down very soon. He's going to shatter, a supernova- bright and terrible and big. He just can't let Bucky see, whenever it is. He _can't_. 

He swallows down bile and revulsion at the deeds done to Bucky. He swallows down the rage that screams _these men deserved their fate_. The rage that screams _he wishes Bucky could do that to people who hurt him_. He pushes back the sob stuck in his throat and manages to just say wetly, " _Bucky._ " It's not enough, but it's the most important thing he can ever say. It's all he can force out. He moves to bring up his other hand to Bucky's shoulder, maybe to steady the both of them, but it's an aborted motion, and he ends up dropping his other arm, too. "You don't have to be sorry. Y-you never have to be sorry."

\--

"But you're sad." And Daddy is, Bucky can see it all over. He wasn't sad this morning. He was fine until he showed up at the hospital and heard about all the awful, awful things Bucky's done. How can he not be sorry? And how can Daddy say he never has to be sorry if Daddy already said they were going to lie down together?

His hands twitch. He wants to hug Daddy. He wants to make him feel better for once, the way that the Bucky Daddy liked would have done so very long ago. But Daddy stopped touching him. He can't hug him now that Daddy doesn't even want his hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"Please don't be sad," he whispers instead. "It's not your fault I did it."

\--

"I'm not-" Steve stops before he says it, and steps backwards and away so he can sit on the edge of the bed. He can't help but throw his face in his hands and let out a muffled "I was so _worried_. Bucky, I was so worried. I- I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry this happened and- I'm so sorry." And he can't stop it. He traversed way too close to the edge and it spills over. Whatever tears he was hiding behind his eyes before come unbidden, and he lets out a sudden sob, a hitch of his breath that sounds disgusting. He won't look up, he keeps his face in his hands. He shouldn't- He needs to stop crying but he _can't_. 

\--

He hasn't seen Daddy cry since the time that he gave Bucky the bear and Bucky put his head in Daddy's lap. It's even worse to see it now. There's no fixing this. He can't make a dead person be alive again. He can't make Daddy forget this; even if he had the chair, he couldn't hurt his daddy that way. And Bucky Bear isn't hear to cheer him up and the other bears are in Bucky's room and Daddy's crying so hard.

Bucky can't think of anything else to do but hug him. He can't try and make him feel better; the last time he tried that was the last time Daddy cried. Bucky doesn't know what he likes. He can't like having a bad kid with bloody clothes grabbing onto him so tightly, but it's all Bucky can do. "Please don't be sad."

\--

"I-" Steve sniffs wetly. He's a mess. He- He's fucking weak and in front of the one person he needs to be strong for. "I'm sorry B-bucky. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I can't- I c-can't do better. I w-wish I could do better for you. I'm so s-sorry." 

\--

"But this isn't your _fault_." His voice breaks and he buries his face against Daddy's shoulder. "It's not your fault I snuck out and it's not your fault I killed people and it's not your fault I got captured and made into the Soldier or anything else! I love you, Daddy."

\--

Steve lets out another sob and sits up a little to wipe wetly at his eyes before he pulls Bucky into a tighter embrace. "I- I'm sorry. I-" He stops. He can't verbalize anything. He can't possibly verbalize that this _is_ all his fault, and that Bucky being the Soldier is on him, too. If only he'd taken better care of him. Been careful. It's his fault that he lost track of him today and he got the chance to kill people. It's his fault it is, and even if it wasn't his- his feelings wouldn't change. The fact that Bucky is this, is _this_ is heartbreaking, kills him slowly every day. 

\--

"Don't be sorry, Daddy." He doesn't know what to say. Maybe he shouldn't say anything at all; nothing he _has_ said made Daddy any happier. But he doesn't know what else to _do_. "You take care of me all the time. You rescued me from HYDRA and you made sure I didn't go to jail and all kinds of stuff. Please don't feel bad."

\--

Steve gives a weak, wet laugh, and it's more of a sob than a laugh. After a few moments of just _sitting_ there, crying, he lifts his head to look at Bucky, to look at his face and the lost opportunities that befell them both, just because he was a dumbass that got himself genetically modified. Bucky who's perfect, even when he's _broken_ and twisted. "I don't deserve you, Buck. I don't- I wish. I just-" He wishes that instead of being turned into this, they'd both stayed in New York, stayed in Brooklyn. "I don't d-deserve you."

\--

Bucky doesn't understand. He can't think of anything to say, so he doesn't. He just hold onto Daddy and tries to be still. He's not crying anymore, but the shaking needs to stop too. Daddy's really upset and Bucky has to be there for him, the way he used to be. He runs his hand up and down Daddy's back because he remembers that he used to do that, even though in the memories, he used to be able to feel all of Daddy's bones through his skin. He can't anymore. Now Daddy feels so solid, but he sounds so broken.

\--

After a few more minutes of crying, of letting himself _feel_ himself, he sniffs and leans back a little, says softly, "T-thank you. I'm . I'm sorry. You're- We were supposed to get you clean. You're bloody still, I'm s-sorry."

\--

"It's okay," he murmurs. He doesn't want to take his clothes off to get cleaned off. He knows what will happen next. But he made Daddy cry so much. He belongs to Daddy, and if Daddy wants to punish him that way, it's his right. Especially after everything today. Bucky shifts back, slowly slipping out of Daddy's hug. He doesn't let himself shake or cry anymore.

\--

Steve let's out one more wet sigh before he sits up all the way, works to get some of his emotions tapped. What he did was inappropriate. Not okay. He needs to- he needs to make up for it. Immediately. He promised Bucky he'd get cleaned up, so- "do you- can you just take a shower tonight? I- I think you should go to bed as soon as possible. Both of us."

\--

"I can take a shower." Usually he likes showers better. They remind him less of his last daddy. But he doesn't want it to be over quickly now. He doesn't want to go to bed.

But he doesn't want Daddy to be sad anymore either, so he goes into the bathroom.

\--

Steve lets himself wallow in his hands for a few minutes after Bucky goes to the bathroom, tries to _pull himself the fuck together_. He can't do this. He has to be an anchor for Bucky; Steve doesn't deserve to fall apart like this.

\--

Bucky waits for a moment in the bathroom. He doesn't remove his clothing because Daddy might want to do that. But Daddy doesn't come in. It makes sense; he's filthy and who could love such a dirty, bad little boy? He strips his clothes off, starts the water.

\--

After a while, Steve gets up and goes to grab a towel, some nightclothes for Bucky to change into once he's finished getting himself cleaned. He lets Bucky clean himself, busying himself with the other chores- taking Bucky's clothes down to Tony and then getting out of his own day clothes. It would feel heavenly putting on sweatpants any other day. 

\--

He trembles a little under the flow of water, and maybe that's okay because nobody's around to see. He wants to stay there, huddled on the floor of the bath, breathing in the steam, until the water runs so cold that he can't feel anything anymore. But he can't do that. With a shivering hand, he shuts off the faucet once the water pouring off of him runs clear. There are clothes waiting for him, and he dries quickly, pulling them on. The clothes aren't surprising. His last daddy hadn't liked to look at his scars either, not even in bed.

\--

When Bucky finally steps out of the bathroom, Steve gives a weak smile, asks, "Feel a little better?" He wanted to talk to Bucky about what happened tonight but. He's not sure it's the best thing to get into it with the kid, not right now. He really, really doesn't want to agitate and confuse Bucky more. They just need to sleep right now. He doesn't normally sleep with Bucky, but the thought of being in a different room than Bucky, of being somewhere else besides right next to him, threatens to send him into a panic.

\--

"Yes." His insides feel knotted up and rotten, and it makes him think of the time before the doctors gave him medicine, when he'd thought his blood had all run out. He feels _wrong_ , broken. But Daddy's smiling now. Daddy won't want to hear him complain. Very slowly, Bucky approaches. He's nervous, confused. Daddy doesn't like it when Bucky tries to take him in his mouth. He's not sure what Daddy _will_ like.

\--

"Good." He knows he probably won't sleep, but he does feel better with Bucky in the room with him. He moves around until he's at the far end of the bed, and then he climbs in, ushering for Bucky to do the same on the closer end. He can only _hope_ Bucky will sleep. He wants him to. 

\--

He slips under the covers and lies there, so stiff. It takes all that he has not to shake. Daddy still hasn't said what he wants him to do. Maybe Daddy doesn't want him to _do_ anything, and that's why he got so upset last time. Maybe Daddy wants to do things to him.

\--

Steve turns to talk to him, to wish him a good night, but he's so stiff and clearly- clearly something's bothering him, and he's not ashamed that his voice wavers when he asks, "What's wrong, Bucky?"

\--

"Nothing." He speaks quickly, forcing himself not to shut his eyes. This is Daddy's right, especially after everything that Bucky's done wrong today, and he can't ruin it by being sad. It's not right. "I'm okay."

\--

"No- no, it's- you can tell me, Buck. You can- I want to help." Please trust him, he's so sorry he broke in front of you, but he wants to help again. 

\--

"It's nothing," Bucky insists. He takes a breath out, forcing his body to go slack. "Really, Daddy, I promise. I'm okay. You don't need to worry. You--you can do whatever you want." He could do whatever he wanted even if Bucky hadn't been so bad. Bucky loves him. Sometimes love hurts. It's okay.

\--

"Whatever I- What do you mean?"

\--

"It's okay." It's bad but Bucky can't help but half-shut his eyes; the world is less scary when all he can see of it is his lashes. "I know I was bad. I won't be bad again."

\--

"Bucky, I don't blame you for what happened tonight. I- Don't worry about it. Please don't- you weren't _bad_. You- I promise."

\--

He can feel himself tensing up again, even though he tries to stop it. He was bad, he knows he was. And he _has_ to be bad, because if he isn't, that means Daddy coming into bed with him isn't a punishment. If it's not a punishment, it can happen any time. And nothing he can do will stop it.

\--

"I promise, Buck. You don't gotta worry about it. We fixed everything we can just- We can sleep without worrying, okay?" Steve says and tries not to see Bucky tensing up _again_. 

\--

"'M not tired," Bucky whispers, even though he is. He's so, so tired, and he wishes he could sleep for a hundred years like the princess in the fairy tale. But acting sleepy to get out of this is bad. He tried it once before and his last daddy hadn't liked it at all.

\--

"Oh. Uh. Well. I mean, I can go make food for us or something, but I think we should sleep." Steve says, his brow furrowed. He looks slightly worried again. 

\--

"I'm not hungry," Bucky says immediately. His stomach is too twisted up to eat anything. He'll get sick.

\--

"O-okay. That's fine." Steve sighs and sits up slowly, frowning heavily. "Is there- Can you please tell me what's wrong? I want to fix it. I- I wanna make sure you're okay. _Please._ "

\--

"I left my bear with the Commander." That's not why he's upset--at least, not all of the reason--but whatever Daddy wants to do isn't _wrong_. And he does miss Bucky Bear. A lot. Squeezing onto the bunny used to make being in bed with his last daddy so much easier.

\--

"Oh, we'll- We'll go get him tomorrow. Do you want one of the other bears? Just for tonight?" He asks softly. He should have remembered to grab the bear. Fuck. 

\--

He shakes his head. Bucky Bear is special. He's the bravest bear and the only one who would really understand what's about to happen. "It's 'kay. We can get him tomorrow. He just...makes me feel better."

\--

"...I'm sorry. Right when we wake up, we can go get him, alright? And make sure... uh, Rumlow is alright. Do you think you can sleep without him?"

\--

Bucky nods. He doesn't trust himself not to start whining if he says anything. He's already made Daddy upset enough today. And that's not what he's here to do.

\--

"Okay. Alright. I'll be- I'm right here, if you need anything. Okay? Good night, Buck." He says it as lightly as possible. All of him wants to press close to Bucky and curl around him, but he can't, he never will, and those thoughts are horrible these days, something to close off to the quietest section of his mind. He can't entertain the thoughts of Bucky reciprocating those feelings, and he can't entertain the thought of him being able to readily react, healthily. Steve has to take care of Bucky, now. He asks Jarvis to turn the lights off, if he would, and gives a soft sigh when the room darkens. 

\--

Bucky can't help tensing up again, even if he relaxes a second after. It's a reflex. He won't let his eyes tear up, trying to count his breaths so he doesn't have to think about anything around him. The last time he shared Daddy's bed...his face burns just thinking about it. He can't do that again, no matter what happens. He's already made enough of a mess.

\--

And nothing does. Steve is still clearly worried about Bucky, but he leaves him alone for now. Concentrates on his own breathing and his own thoughts and actually _tries_ to sleep, even if it's probably not going to happen. He has to try and hope Bucky will, too. 

\--

The clock in the room is digital, but Bucky can still hear every second ticking by. He waits. And waits. Realizes the noise is his heartbeat. And waits more. He doesn't understand. Unless--is this a part of the punishment? The waiting and the knowing? Having to be patient while he waits?

He can't be patient. Today was so hard and so scary and he just can't. "Just...please. Just do it."

\--

Steve slits open his eyes and turns to peer at Bucky in the dark, tilting his head slightly. "Do... What?" 

\--

"I...whatever you...want?" He doesn't know what Daddy wants. The way that he cried the last time Bucky tried to make him feel good proves that.

\--

"I- I don't understand, Buck." Steve is starting to get the cold, falling sensation that happens whenever he learns something awful that happened to Bucky, and he really, really doesn't want to deal with this. Not tonight. But he will, because Bucky is clearly starting to freak out, just a little. 

\--

"You..." His face feels hot. This _hurts_ so much and they haven't even started yet. "You wanted to...be in bed together...and I did bad stuff...I'll be good, I p-promise."

\--

He's glad it's dark. Steve doesn't want Bucky to see the way his face pales and blanches at the implications, at the ideas and the fact that _this has happened before_. He makes a weak sound and tries to compose himself before telling Jarvis to turn the lights back on, because he needs to look at Bucky. He needs Bucky to see him. "Nothing- Nothing is going to happen. Bucky, I- I'd _never_ do that. Any of it. You- you weren't bad and even if you- even if you were, I'd never be. Be that heartless. That fucking _cruel_ to hurt you. I-I. You're _safe_ with me. _Safe_."

\--

And hearing that should make Bucky happy. He should be glad _that_ he's not in trouble. He won't fall asleep sore and wake up with an ache in his stomach and a sticky itch on his thighs. But it just feels like the bed is shifting under him. He _killed_ people without orders. There has to be a reparation. There _has_ to be, no matter how nice Daddy is. And he just wants it _done_ already so he can stop being scared.

"I know I'm safe," he mumbles, shifting a little closer to Steve. "So...it's okay. Whatever you want. I know you'll be nicer."

\--

"Bucky, I- I can't. I wouldn't. It's- It's not how things _are_ anymore. It was- was wrong that it ever was like that." He has to hold back another round of sobbing. He wants to- he can feel the lump in his throat and the panic in his gut. The guilt. 

\--

"But--" He can feel his own tears starting up, can't hold them back. Nothing makes sense and he's so tired and scared and if that's not how things are now, then _anything_ could happen.

\--

"Bucky..." Steve mumbles, and he wants to move closer, wants to hold him and hold him and _hold him_ forever and stop anything bad from happening to him, but holding him and touching him is part of the problem. Just reinforces the fucking _shit_ that Pierce taught him. "I will never do anything you don't want me to."

\--

"But I want you to punish me!" He hides his face behind his hands, crying in full force now. "That stuff--when I was bad and Daddy would--I didn't _like_ it, but it made _sense_. I--he always said what he wanted or needed or what I did bad and good and there aren't any _orders_ anymore and nothing makes any sense and I just--I don't know what to do!"

\--

"That's the- I'm not going to punish you. I'm- he wasn't _punishing_ you, Bucky. He was _hurting_ you. _Using_ you. I don't- You don't _have_ to do anything. You can do what you want." Well, killing people isn't ideal, but if tonight has shown anything, Steve will do anything for Bucky. Anything. 

\--

What he wants? He doesn't _know_ what he wants. It's been so long since anything in his life was his own to choose. There are options in the tower, but they're little things. What he wants for breakfast. Whether he wants to play with bears or color. But those are _little_. It's like when he was the asset and they'd let him pick his gun, unless they needed a special one to frame somebody else. What to think--what to feel--whether or not he should be punished--those _aren't_ things he can handle. They're beyond any parameters he can really remember. And they make him sick.

He's quiet for a long time, except for the sniffles that he can't keep from slipping out. Try as he might, he can't process it. And he can't calm down. "What if...what if I want you to tell me what to do?"

\--

"In. In what ways?" Steve asks after a few beats of silence, looking concerned and still so worried, worried that there's going to be another bomb falling upon his head. 

\--

"I...I dunno." Wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, he sniffs again. "It's just...it's too _hard_ and I keep messing up and I just...I don't want to have to think or feel or _choose_. Not right now. I can't."

\--

"Just- You'll. You'll feel better in the morning. I- You want me to order you around? I-I don't know."

\--

He won't feel better in the morning. In the morning, people will still be dead and Daddy will still be sad. He'll wake up without his bear and probably wet and the Commander will still be all beat up. But even though Daddy's as big and broad as ever, he looks so small now. Like he'll break if Bucky keeps whining for orders. So he just nods, sliding back down until his head's against the pillow. "'Kay."

\--

"I'm- If you really. We can talk about it, but. I don't think either of us are in the best. Mood? To talk about something like this. You- We- really need to sleep." Steve murmurs, and wipes at his eyes quickly. 

\--

"Okay." He'll sleep. Daddy really wants him to sleep, so that's almost an order, a chance to be good. And he's so tired anyway. Bucky shuts his eyes. "I love you, Daddy."

\--

"...Love you too, Buck." He asks for the lights to go off again, and lays down, staring at the ceiling. 

\--

It doesn't take long. Once the lights are off again, all the exhaustion of the day comes crashing down full force and it's only minutes before Bucky's limp and sleeping.


	3. Chapter 3

In Bucky's dreams, he finds himself lying on a table. The table is metal and cold. There are bright lights above, and he's naked.

There's a hand on his wrist, and the hand leads up to a small man with glasses that shine in the light and hide his eyes. The man pulls on his arm, and it tears away as easily as softened butter. There's no blood from the ragged stump below his shoulder. There's stuffing, spilling out in compacted, off-white little lumps.

Then there are more bodies about him, slicing down his chest. They peel back his skin, pin it in place, and begin to yank out the stuffing in handfuls. It has a strange, pleasant smell. Like roasted peanuts and the sea and mechanical grease all at once. He tries to cover himself, tries to keep it inside, but they've pinned his arm down.

They have new stuffing. It smells both coppery and antiseptic. It stings in his throat and makes his eyes water. They're packing it in so tight he feels stretched with it, threatening to tear apart at the seams. The new stuffing begins to fall out of the hole in his shoulder, but they stitch a new arm in place to keep it all in.

Things go dark after that. He's not sure how long the darkness lasts.

He's still on a table when the light returns, but he's not half-blinded anymore. This is Tony's lab, and Tony and Bruce are above him. They're cutting him open too, but he doesn't struggle. They'll put him back together right. He won't feel so out of shape now.

They're not the ones to take out the stuffing. It's Steve now. Steve's reaching deep inside and scooping it all out, and Bucky would smile if he could. Steve can fix him. It doesn't matter if it hurts when he pulls so deep inside, if the stuffing starts to look like veins or sinew. Steve will fill him back up.

But he doesn't. He leaves Bucky hollowed out, empty, and before he turns to go, he takes Bucky's limp hand. "You'll be all right," Steve promises. "You'll be fine."

\--

Steve gets up early. He knew he wouldn't sleep well and... He doesn't want to push it. He gets up at around six, leaves Bucky in the bed to continue resting. He'll make breakfast for him and if he doesn't come out by the time he's finished, he'll bring it to him. He doesn't feel _great_ but... The urgency and panic of yesterday has faded to the back of his mind, mostly, allowing him to at least feel _slightly_ stable. 

\--

He wakes with his fingers searching for a bear that isn't there. Daddy's not there either. Bucky pulls the blankets tighter around himself, huddling up beneath them. He needs to get up. Everything that happened yesterday is trickling back and he _needs_ to be a grown-up now. But he's never felt smaller.

\--

He finishes making two large plates of the perfect breakfast- the cooking isn't the _best_ , but it's made with. Care. Whatever. He smiles when he sees Bucky awake, though a furrow appears in his brow at the sight of him, seeing him look so huddled and small. He sets the plates on the nightstand, comes close to Bucky to ask, "Hey. You up for the day?"

\--

"Uh-huh." He sits up, although the blankets are still wrapped tight around him. It would be easier to be grown-up if Bucky Bear were here, but he's not. Bucky has to do it on his own. He looks at the plates on the nightstand and says "Thank you" even though his tummy's still in knots.

\--

"'Course. If we're gonna get up and go to the hospital, we better eat. Hospital food is horrible." He's trying, he's fucking _trying_. It's easier than it was yesterday, and he's got most of his locks down tight again, able to look the picture of stable and grounded. 

\--

Bucky nods. He doesn't reach for either plate because he isn't sure which one is his. They're going to see Bucky Bear and the Commander. That will help. Unless they want to talk about things...

But worrying about that won't help. "Did...could Tony fix the cameras?"

\--

"I haven't asked yet. Just got up, but... I'm sure he did. He'll probably bug us when we get back from the hospital. " He hides back his grimace. He _really_ doesn't want to have to talk about this later.

\--

"'Kay." He tries to think of something else to ask--it's easier to eat when he has distractions, especially when he's upset--but he can't think of anything else. And he doesn't want to be annoying. "Uh. Are...are we taking the bike again?"

\--

"Uh... I think we'll take a car, this time. I- I shouldn't've taken the bike. That was a bad idea." Steve gives a small smile and a shrug, like there was no harm done.

\--

Bucky nods. "Thanks," he says again. "For breakfast." He's going to pick at it, he knows, and he doesn't want Daddy to think he's not grateful.

\--

"Of course. Anytime, Buck." He sits on the opposite side of the bed and starts eating his own breakfast, focusing on that task single-mindedly. 

\--

He pushes his food around with the fork a few times before taking a bite. He wishes he could eat like Bucky Bear. At least Bucky Bear could be there for the Commander last night. He probably helped a lot. Bucky Bear's a lot better at helping.

\--

Steve eats with a little more inclination than Bucky, starving after not eating all night last night in his worry and scramble to find Bucky , and then deal with the aftermath of what he'd done. When he finishes the plate, he sets it on the nightstand beside him, giving a sigh- if not happy, then content. "Did you sleep alright?" he asks slowly, carefully. 

\--

"I didn't wake up." He can't remember the last time he slept through a nightmare. Bucky isn't sure if it's better to sleep through one or worse. He takes another few bites, trying not to scrape his fork against the plate as he chews. It gives him something to do with his hands, but it's an annoying noise.

\--

"Through the night? Yeah, you were probably tired. Yesterday was a long day." Steve smiles a little. 

\--

"Did you sleep?" Daddy was upset last night too. Probably even more than Bucky, because Bucky kept making it worse. He takes another bite. He can't start the day without eating, or Daddy will get worried all over again.

\--

"A little bit. Enough." Steve gives another soft smile and takes a drink of one of the glasses of juice he'd brought in. 

\--

"We don't have to get Bucky Bear right away if you're still tired." Even if he really, really misses him. "It's okay."

\--

"No, I'm fine. Prefer to be up and moving, anyways. And I know you really want him back- I shoulda remembered to grab him before we left Rumlow."

\--

"It's not your fault." Bucky shrugs, forcing the last forkful into his mouth. "He probably helped the Commander feel better anyway."

\--

"Yeah, probably." Steve says mildly, shrugging a little. He really doesn't care if the 'Commander' feels better or not. He only cares about Bucky's wellbeing. 

\--

"Should I get dressed?" He puts the empty plate back on the nightstand. His room and his clothes seem so far away now, but he doesn't feel like he'll collapse from taking a few steps on his own anymore.

\--

"Uh, if you wanna get going. We can go whenever you want, so..." He shrugs . 

\--

Bucky stands, nodding. He wants his bear back, even if he doesn't want to be alone even long enough to get changed. He wishes Daddy would just tell him to go get ready, make things easier, but Daddy seems maybe actually happy now. He's not going to open that can of worms again.

\--

"If you want, we can stop and get some food to bring to Rumlow. He probably wants lunch." And Steve honestly really doesn't like Brock, but he can't deny that Brock doesn't need _something_ for having to deal with Bucky killing for him. Even if he's done it before, it's different. And besides, he's just trying to make _Bucky_ happy, and he knows Bucky likes Rumlow for some fucking reason. 

\--

"He likes pancakes," Bucky offers. At least, that was what the Commander made the last time Bucky remembers seeing him around food. A lot of time on the missions they ate MREs, but the Commander had always complained about them. "With, uh, with chocolate."

\--

Steve nods a little, says "Well. We can go have breakfast at IHOP or something. Get some chocolate pancakes to go for him." as some sort of gesture. That maybe he can be a little more forgiving of Brock if he's gonna help with Bucky, now. 

\--

"'Kay." He steps into his shoes, frowning down at the laces. He can tie them, he _knows_ how, but he also knows that five year olds have problems tying their shoes. So he just...can't. Not without help. Kneeling down, he pulls the laces tight and tucks them in instead. Good enough.

\--

Steve frowns at how he ties his shoes and then gives as amused a smile as a he can before he leans down and takes one of Bucky's feet and starts to tie for him.

\--

"Thank you." There's a little flush to his face, but that's always there when somebody else has to help him with things he should be able to do on his own.

It's...weird how _normal_ this morning has been. Daddy hasn't even tried to talk about the stuff that Bucky did last night. Maybe they can just not talk about it. Maybe they can act like everything's normal now that the evidence is all gone. Bucky would like that. It probably won't happen, but he can hope.

\--

Steve finishes tying Bucky's shoes and stands up again, giving him another faint smile. He would _love_ to never talk about any of this. But he's waiting. He doesn't want to stress Bucky out when he's in this mindset, wants to wait until he's an adult again before he brings it up. "You ready?"

\--

Bucky nods. "Don't be mad at the Commander," he says softly, shuffling toward the elevator. "He told me not to look for those people, but I just waited 'til the drugs made him tell me."

\--

Steve makes nothing but a soft humming sound in reply. In this specific case, he's not pissed at Rumlow. Oh, in general, yeah. He has every right to be. But he will grudgingly accept that this wasn't Brock's fault. 

\--

Bucky hopes that's a yes. He follows Daddy to the car in silence. There's so much more he wants to say, how sorry he is and how scared he was and all the awful things he can't stop seeing, but he can't talk about it. That will just make everyone sad again and then they'll have to talk about it all and he's not ready. He doesn't think he ever will be.

\--

When they get to the car, Steve opens the door for Bucky silently, gesturing for him to climb in. It’s honestly a godsent that Stark has a dozen cars, and a dozen more that Steve actually feels comfortable driving around on a daily basis. He makes sure the door has stopped moving, and then he walks around to the other side, getting in the front. He settles, and lets himself just sit for a while. 

Sit and stare both out the front windshield and at nothing at all, fingers tightening on the steering wheel before he can come back to himself, fully, push all the blessed fog away from his head as he starts the car, glancing behind him to make sure that Bucky is in and buckled and ready to go. 

\--

It’s a gray morning, rain drizzling down on the windshield as soon as the wheels touch the street. Bucky’s quiet, twisting the strap of the seatbelt around his fingers. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to ruin the calm that Daddy’s shown ever since they got up. He can be quiet. He was for so many decades, and while that time hurt, Bucky thinks it might sting more now that people expect him to talk about it.

They stop on the way to get the Commander’s pancakes. Bucky doesn’t want to leave the car, and thankfully they don’t have to. There are pancake houses with drive-thrus now, which would be really cool on any other day. Bucky sits with the take-out container on his lap, watching the other cars pass them by. It feels like it only takes a minute to reach the hospital.

\--

The only words exchanged for the whole ride is when they ordered their food and…. Steve is okay with that. He really doesn’t want to have to talk today. He’s probably going to go home and excuse himself to either go to the gym and beat something up, or sleep for… Well, not eternity, not again, but at least a day. 

When they finally get to the hospital and he parks, he takes another moment. He’s fucking selfish for doing this, for taking so many moments for himself to just sit and wallow and try to get his head on straight, but he can’t help it. He’ll fix it later so it’ll never happen again. As soon as that’s done, though, he turns the car off and gets out, glancing back at Bucky to smile at him and say “You ready? I bet Bucky Bear missed you.”

\--

Bucky nods. He’d been afraid to get out of the car--leaving will mean seeing the Commander, and having to face the things that he did _for_ the Commander. But the mention of Bucky Bear has him unbuckling the seatbelt and sliding open his door with an eager nod. “I missed him.”

And he did, so much. Things are easier with Bucky Bear, even if they’re still scary. Bucky Bear never panics. Bucky Bear always knows how to keep him safe. And when he races into the Commander’s hospital room, ignoring the check-in desk and just going slow enough to make sure Daddy’s keeping up, it’s Bucky Bear that he hugs onto first, almost crushing his bear between his chest and the box of pancakes.

\--

Rumlow jerks and then promptly flinches when Bucky barrels into the room, taking a hold of his stuffed bear. Fuck, but all that sudden movements pulls on… Well, everything that’s wrong with his body, physically. “Whoa, hey kid.” He mutters. He wipes a hand across his eyes and focuses on Bucky and then on Steve, hovering in the doorway. Fuck, but he wishes they showed up an hour ago, before he’d requested just a _little _more painkillers. “Mornin’ to you too.”__

__\--_ _

__“Hi Commander I missed you too did Bucky Bear make you feel better he’s really good at that we brought you pancakes.” Bucky settles down on the bed, careful not to sit on top of the Commander or jostle his bed very much. Daddy’s still in the doorway._ _

__“Did the doctors help?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t like doctors and he doesn’t think the Commander does either, but a lot of their medicines make things hurt less._ _

__\--_ _

__“Whoa, relax.” He says, and slowly sits up, flicking his eyes to the man in the doorway for a second before reaching forward to grab the white takeout box and peek inside at it. “Doctors are doctors.” He shrugs. “But if it really helps you to know, I’m feelin’ slightly better.” Mostly. Kind of. It’s a blatant lie, since all his wounds have now settled into his skin and bones, and he also has the added mental trauma of having a child go out and kill men for him, but the kid don’t need to know that, not at all._ _

__\--_ _

__“Those are the kind you like, right?” Bucky takes a deep breath instead of saying more right away. The Commander told him to calm down. After everything that’s happened, he definitely needs to be good and follow orders._ _

__“Do you know how long you’ll be here?” The Commander’s apartment is still all messed up. Maybe Bucky can clean it, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed there anymore._ _

__\--_ _

__Brock takes another look at the box and nods, glancing up to give Bucky a half-smile. He thinks it’s convincing enough, but then again, it doesn’t have to be since he picks up the fork in the box and shoves a mouthful into his face a second later. He’s fucking starving, and pancakes are fine, even if he’s about seventy-five percent certain he knows why Bucky chose pancakes, especially this kind of pancakes, for Brock’s breakfast._ _

__Through a mouthful of food, he manages, “I’m leaving whenever I can walk.” Because there’s no way he’s staying the entire time, not when he can easily veg out on his couch in a week._ _

__\--_ _

__“I’m paying for you,” Bucky reminds him. He realizes he hasn’t mentioned that to Daddy, but he doesn’t think Daddy’s going to mind. Not with everything else Bucky’s done without telling him. “Lemme know when you’re going, ‘kay?”_ _

__He glances at Bucky Bear, who doesn’t have anything to report. The Commander must have slept through the night. The morphine would have helped._ _

__“Everything’s...cleaned up,” he adds. It’s dangerous to bring up, but he doesn’t want the Commander to worry._ _

__\--_ _

__Brock stares at him for a second before giving a small, jerky nod. “Okay.” Every single statement Bucky just made is a statement that he wants to ignore. Doesn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. He shoves another bite of pancake in his mouth, and gestures to Bucky to take some if he wants._ _

__\--_ _

__“We had breakfast.” Bucky glances at Daddy, still in the doorway, and then to the chair by the bed where Bucky had sat last night before he went and messed everything up. “Daddy, you can sit down.”_ _

__But maybe he doesn’t want to. Bucky’s not sure they’re meant to stay here; the idea was to bring the Commander breakfast and let Bucky Bear know that he hadn’t been left behind. Now he’s not sure what’s left, except for everyone to sit around and not be comfortable._ _

__\--_ _

__Steve pulls his hand from the doorframe where it had started to gouge into the fucking drywall. He just needs to. To calm down. He steps into the room and stiffly sits in the chair, trying not to- trying to, maybe, blend into the rest of the room. He doesn’t like Brock, but he has to admit that Brock seems to be helping, or at least cares about the kid, and that’s. It means a lot. Even if Brock is a giant piece of shit._ _

__“Thanks for the pancakes, Rogers.” Brock says, muffled around more food. He’s hardly eaten since he got here, so this is nice, helpful, even if the tension in the room is practically palpable. Eh. Brock’s eaten in worse atmospheres._ _

__\--_ _

__“The Commander’s made me pancakes twice,” Bucky says, because the silence in the room is pressing down all over. “He’s really good at it.” Daddy knows about the second time; that was when Bucky slept at the Commander’s apartment and had pancakes the next morning. He decides it’s probably better not to talk about the first time._ _

__It strikes him that Bucky Bear hasn’t eaten in over a day. There are little squeeze packets in the take-out box with both syrup and honey. “Uh,” Bucky says, fingers twitching toward the box. “Can I--?”_ _

__\--_ _

__Brock looks down at his fingers and nods, sliding the box over to him. “Sure. Eat whatever you want.” He tries to ignore the look that Rogers is giving him, just a steady look that screams of judgement and so many other emotions that Brock is gonna pretend aren’t there._ _

__\--_ _

__“Thanks.” He takes the packet of honey. It’s too small for Bucky Bear to hold onto, so he just sets it on top of the bear’s leg. Bucky Bear seems happy, although he warns Bucky that some sort of arrangement has to be reached. Otherwise Daddy’s just going to be mad at the Commander and not let Bucky see him anymore or go outside at all, probably._ _

__Bucky clears his throat, shutting his eyes tight. He doesn’t want to say anything, but he has to. “Are you two mad at each other?”_ _

__\--_ _

__Brock looks up from staring at the honey packet on the bear’s leg, before his eyes slide to Rogers. “Well, I ain’t.” His mouth is just loose enough from the drugs that his speech is smooth and fluid. “I mean, sure, in general, but not about this.”_ _

__Steve looks between the both of them, deciding not to focus on either. It’s easier to stare at nothing than to stare at a traitor, or at the child. “I’m not mad, Bucky.” He says, quietly. “Not about this.”_ _

__\--_ _

__“But you’re not happy, either.” And if they’re not mad at each other, no matter how many reassurances he receives, he can’t help but be sure that they’re mad at him. “I...I know I messed up. But I don’t wanna ruin everything. I just--I want stuff to go back to how it was.” But he doesn’t know what he can do to make that happen._ _

__\--_ _

__“I know, Buck. You’re okay, I promise.” Steve reassures immediately, leaning across the chair to put a hand on his arm for a moment, before he leans back again. Too much contact right now is terrifying, is. Just not- He can’t. “Things will be okay.”_ _

__\--_ _

__“Okay isn’t the _same_ ,” Bucky mumbles. He knows he’s being petulant, but he can’t help whining. “I just wanted to help and I ruined everything. And now--nobody’s gonna trust me. I can’t go out anymore, can I? I _shouldn’t._ ” He swallows hard. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I don’t--”_ _

__Shaking his head, Bucky trails off. He doesn’t know what he wants; everything too messed up in his head to make sense of words. Bucky Bear doesn’t know how to say it either. The bear can plan, can fix problems, but he can’t talk to people like Bucky can._ _

__\--_ _

__Steve gives a small frustrated sigh. Not frustration at Bucky, but at himself and at the circumstances and at the fucking universe and- “I think it would be best if you stayed at home for a while.” At least until he can get an appointment with his therapist in. “I know you don’t want to hurt anyone, Bucky. Everyone knows that.”_ _

__He just doesn’t know how to start or even go about working through this conversation._ _

__\--_ _

__“But I wanna see the Commander.” He needs to, now more than ever. He needs orders and somebody to keep him in line; last night proves that. Daddy’s wonderful. Daddy takes care of him and gives him everything else he needs. But Daddy won’t give him orders. He said it was a bad idea when Bucky asked. “So does Bucky Bear.”_ _

__He pushes closer to the Commander, lying against his side without putting any weight on him. An idea strikes him, sudden and as perfect as it is sure to be rejected. “I--can the Commander come home with us?”_ _

__\--_ _

__Steve goes still, very still as he stares at Bucky laying beside someone who systematically fucked him over for years. Someone who should not be near him whatsoever, someone who should be in prison, or something else. Someone who should not be shoving pancakes in his mouth while the kid sits next to him._ _

__Brock, for his part, goes still, too, spluttering around a mouthful of pancake and being forced to sit up even more so he doesn’t choke. “ _What?_ ” _ _

__“What do you mean, Bucky…?” Steve asks as slow as he can._ _

__\--_ _

__Bucky doesn’t answer right away, staring wide-eyed at the Commander to make sure he’s not choking. “I just…” His face feels hot, mouth dry. Bucky Bear is encouraging him to go on, but that’s easy for Bucky Bear to say when he’s eating honey and can’t talk._ _

__“We have enough room.” He looks down, feeling his toes curl within his shoes. “And then...nobody could hurt the Commander, and I wouldn’t have to go out...Daddy, you could make sure the Commander doesn’t do anything bad?”_ _

__It’s a good idea. But no one else is going to see it that way._ _

__\--_ _

__Steve sits back. Because. It’s clear that it’s actually a coherent, good idea. Even if he hates it and wants to shut it down immediately, it’s._ _

__Brock could still be watched by the authorities, but now he’d be in the safest Tower on the planet, with constant surveillance from Jarvis. Steve could monitor any visits Bucky takes, if he grows worried. Brock could probably heal a _lot more_ with Stark and Banner looking at him and getting bored enough to look into burns. Brock would be _right under Steve’s nose,_ and Bucky wouldn’t want to leave the Tower as often. _ _

__It’s. A really good idea. And when he looks wide-eyed at Rumlow, he can see that Brock realized it too, though he looks awkward and wide-eyed, surprised._ _

__“Me, living with you permanently?” Brock asks, voice hoarse, and when the kid nods, he looks at Rogers again and. Looks like he could nod his head as fast as shake it._ _

__“It’s- Bucky that’s. Not actually-”_ _

__“I’ve got my own apartment kid and-”_ _

__“I don’t like him being that close to you and-”_ _

__“Fuck, though, Rogers, as much as I hate to say it-”_ _

__“It’s a good idea.” Steve finishes for him, and wilts._ _

__\--_ _

__Bucky feels his tummy clench as they speak, his own breakfast threatening to come straight back up. They’re going to say no, he knows they are; they’re only struggling to find the nicest way to say it._ _

__Bucky Bear says to be patient, to be brave. But Bucky Bear’s just trying to make him feel better. They’re not going to--_ _

__But then Daddy says it’s a good idea. And the Commander doesn’t argue._ _

__Raising his head, Bucky feels himself smile. It’s small and wavering--What if they change their minds? And why wouldn’t they?--but it feels like the first time he’s really smiled in _years._ “Really?”_ _

__\--_ _

__“...Yeah. It’s a good idea, Bucky. And if. If Brock wants to, it’ll be better. And. And Stark’ll say yes and…” He puts his face in his hands because it’s clear to him now that Brock is probably going to live with them, become a fixture in their lives. And it’s._ _

__He’s angry and pissed, of course he is. He’s hated Brock for over a year at this point, for tricking him and ruining everything and betraying him and fucking over _Bucky_. But before all that, Brock was his friend. A _good_ friend. And it’s hard, sometimes, to look at Brock and not see that friendship they had. Sure, Brock was crass and disgusting and his walls were thick enough to rival Steve’s own, but. _ _

__And it’s not like he’s hurt the kid, since. In fact, other than letting the kid be around drugs and depression (which, Steve lets him be around the latter often enough), Brock’s been… _good_. As good as he can. _ _

__This might be a good thing. Not only for Bucky or Brock, but for _Steve_ , too. So he can reconcile his feelings and figure out what the fuck he wants to. What he. What he _feels_ for this man._ _

__\--_ _

__Bucky’s still smiling, stronger now. He squeezes a little tighter to Bucky Bear and the honey packet falls onto the bed sheets, but Bucky’s pretty sure the bear already absorbed all he needed anyway. Bucky Bear’s happy too._ _

__He faces the Commander, who hasn’t said yes or no yet. The Commander’s so stubborn, but Bucky can’t help hoping. When Daddy says something’s okay, that means it’s going to happen._ _

__\--_ _

__Brock looks between Rogers and then stares at the kid. The kid who’s got this _look_ on his face like Brock’ll be destroying the world itself if he has the audacity to say no. So he can’t. And. It’ll be. _ _

__It’ll be annoying as _fuck_ , but. It’s better than being in an empty apartment. He hates the thing. He feels awkward for wanting to say yes, for wanting something close to. To companionship. But. He’s not strong enough to say no. Not strong enough to _say_ yes either, so he just nods mutely._ _

__\--_ _

__So it’s settled. Bucky can’t help hugging tight onto the Commander, the man’s wounds forgotten. Bucky’s smiling so much it hurts, and Bucky Bear, pressed between them, feels overstuffed with happiness._ _

__“We can go get the stuff from your apartment and have everything set up for you when you feel good enough to leave and it’s gonna be great!” he says, almost trembling like he was last night. But he’s not scared or sad now; he’s overjoyed._ _

__People are still dead and Daddy’s probably going to want to talk about that to Bucky, and with his therapists, and a _lot_ , and Bucky himself feels his stomach drop at remembering, but right now, it’s not important. What’s important is that everyone can be together and safe. They can work the rest out. Bucky knows they will. Avengers always do._ _

__They can find a way to be happy._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Check us out on Tumblr: [Lauralot](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com) and [ravenously.](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com)


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